


Forget-Me-Not

by Sauric



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Coma, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Long-Term Amnesia, M/M, MRIs, Medical Emergency, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Needles, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-19 14:21:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 32,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7364950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauric/pseuds/Sauric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is inspired by the Season 9 episode Bad Boys to a small degree because it got me wondering how Dean's life would have been different if he got out. But then, as long as he knew monsters existed, he'd need to forget that.</p><p>This one is updated twice a month, usually every other Friday/Saturday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Current Day; Sam

When Sam returned to work on Monday morning, he was actually surprised to find Gabriel there, his usual chipper, bright self with a cup of overly-sugared coffee and a lollipop (really?) hanging out of his mouth--breakfast of champions, his words.

Sam had honestly expected Gabriel to call out after the weekend, or at least for the man to be hung over, or maybe jetlagged from flying back from New York (some small town) to Stanford, but alas, the older man was there, ready to work and ready to tease.

When Sam finally had a good long moment to stop for a break, it was lunch, and he found Gabriel leaning over his computer. Sam came around the back of the desk to see what his partner was working on (Sam hoped it was the LGBT housing descrimination case) but instead found him scrolling through Facebook, of all things.

"Gabe, that doesn't look like work. If one of the interns were on Facebook, you'd have them fired," Sam chastised, even though the older man was technically his boss.

Still, Gabriel shrugged and raised one eyebrow at him as he glanced up. "I'm on my lunchbreak, Samsquatch. Why don't you join me, pretend you know how to relax?"

"I know how to relax!" Sam protested.

"Then why did you refuse to join me this weekend?"

"I wasn't invited," Sam shot back, glaring at Gabriel as he slowly nibbled on a Snickers bar.

"I was allowed to bring a plus one." Gabriel grinned up at Sam. "Come on, why did you say no?"

"Because I'm married, maybe? I think Jess would have protested."

"You're no fun, Sammich. Hershey bar?" Gabriel extended an unpoened bar of chocolate in a peace offering, and Sam's nose wrinkled.

"No. Thank you."

Sam peered down at the screen as Gabriel scrolled down, and he snorted. "Get back to work after lunch, there's a lot to do on the housing case. What are you looking at anyway?"

"Will do. And photos from my little brother's wedding over the weekend. You met him once, Castiel. It's too bad you don't have a hot older brother for me to hit on instead, you know, since I can't get away with flirting with Cassie's new husband. He'd just hit me. The Winchester genes seem like they'd be strong, though."

Sam's gut clenched at the joke. "I remember Castiel. I didn't realize he was gay."

He didn't talk about his big brother. NOBODY talked about his big brother, not hardly more than a word since he disappeared without a trace 14 years ago.

Sam had been 12, his brother had been 16. Sam had gone to the library in town to try to do some homework, and his brother was supposed to pick him up later, but Dad had shown up instead. When they had returned to the hotel room, his brother was gone.

Sure, Sam had spent every summer since then looking for him. He even had a private detective on retainer, for Christ's sake. But nothing had ever turned up.

Gabriel glanced up at Sam. "That's not a problem, is it?"

Sam's face screwed up in irritation. "Is that a joke, Gabe? Seriously. Why would that be a problem for me?"

Gabriel shrugged, looking back at the screen. Sam started in surprise as Gabriel scrolled past a photo that chilled him to the bone--a young boy with light, floppy hair and a toy plane, and a teenage boy with dark hair and a sullen expression, one arm thrown protectively around the younger boy's shoulders as they leaned back against a black car.

Gabriel kept scrolling, but Sam grabbed at the mouse. "Wait! Go back!"

Gabriel started in surprise at Sam's behavior. "Woah, woah, what's up?"

"Go back," Sam insisted.

Gabriel squinted up at him but dutifully scrolled back up until Sam shouted loudly enough to make Gabriel jump in his seat. "There! That one! Who posted that?"

"Uh..." Gabriel leaned in, squinting. "Charlie Bradbury. She's a friend of the grooms, Cassie since elementary school, and Dean since he moved to town. Oh, wait, there's a description," Gabriel said, leaning closer, reading. "I've known Castiel and Dean for many years and have been privileged to call both of them my best friends. But it was only while we were planning for the wedding that I finally found out that while Dean may be a brother to me, he had no actual family that he knew of to invite to the wedding. It turned out this photograph is the only evidence he has that he may have a younger brother, so please share this photo. With your help, we might be able to find the other boy in the picture and find Dean's family for him--I couldn't hope to get him a better wedding gift!"

"Did you say Dean?" Sam breathed out. Could it...could it possibly be Dean? His brother, Dean, after all of these years? The younger boy in the picture looked like a young Sam, the car behind them looked like his father's '67 Chevy Impala. "Let me see a picture of Dean."

Gabriel looked confused, but he obliged, switching to a wedding party photo with the two grooms centered in the middle. Light brown hair and clear green eyes, Gabriel pointed out Dean to Sam.

"Switch back."

Gabriel huffed a sigh, rolling his eyes, but complying and switching back to the scan of the old photograph.

"How can I get in touch with Charlie Bradbury?" Sam asked, still staring.

"You wanna share with the class, Sammy?"

"I think I know Dean. I think....I think he's my brother."


	2. Fourteen Years Ago; Unknown

Oh god, his head was pounding. Why did his head feel like someone had taken a jackhammer to his brain? Slowly, he cracked open one eye, squinting at the floor his face was smushed into, sunlight fading through the window to his left. Why was he on the floor?

He shifted, and pain rocketed through him, a groan escaping him. 

Carefully, he sat up, using the edge of the bed to gingerly pull himself to his feet (holy fuck, the pain in his wrist made him think it was probably broken) before limping toward the open door of the bathroom.

He started with a jerk at the unfamiliar face peering back at him in the mirror, the sudden movement tearing a whimper from his lips, but the face staring back at him was one he didn't know. Forget the bruising, the swelling black eyes, the split lip, the broken nose dribbling blood, he didn't recognize ANYTHING about the face peering back at him. Not a damn thing looked like...

He picked up a wash cloth, soaking it under the faucet in warm water before swiping away some of the dried blood, tears, and snot on his face. So he'd been crying, it seemed. The question was why?

Face as cleaned as it was going to get, he picked at his blood-stained clothes, lifting the hem of his shirt to find foot-shaped bruises littering his chest. A twist and turn showed his back wasn't likely any better, so he trudged his way back into the room, looking around before he located a duffle bag with clean clothes stuffed in the bottom. He swiped a set, changing as quickly as he could before balling up the bloody clothes and the washcloth, tucking the wallet he'd found in his jeans pocket back into the fresh pair.

He couldn't stay here. There was no way, not if the bastard who did this to him was going to come back any time soon, it wasn't safe.

So clothes tucked under his arm, he slipped out of the room, stashing the bloody clothes in the dumpster behind the motel before making a run for it.

Wisely, he kept to the brush and trees alongside the road, going still whenever a car would pass close by, but he kept his feet moving, despite the pain he was in. His headache was still something fierce, clawing at his brain, and every injury and bruise throbbed relentlessly. But...he had no idea who had hurt him. His attacker could be anyone, anywhere. Better to keep going, right?

But he only keep going for so long until hunger dug into his belly, fierce and unforgiving. He swayed unsteadily on his feet, leaning on a tree as his head swam. He didn't dare shake his head to try to clear the fuzziness away, though--knowing his luck it would make everything hurt worse, so he just pushed on until a small gas station came into view. 

Somehow he knew gas stations meant food, and food meant having money, but when he opened the wallet he'd jammed back into his pocket, there was nothing in there but a couple of crumpled ones and a photograph, one he barely glanced at before shoving everything back into his pocket. He'd have to depend on a discount to eat tonight, it looked.

He waited until a car pulled in and then slipped into the station, flipping the collar of his jacket up and hunkering down as he made his way toward the bathrooms in the back. He took a minute to putter around, and then he was making his way back out again, snagging a jar of peanut butter and a bag of bread as he crept out past the family that had pulled up to the station. For a moment he thought he was home-free, and then--

A siren blared to his right with a flash of red and blue lights, and he made a break for it, dashing for the trees. But luck was not on his side tonight, and within moments, he felt himself being tackled to the ground. His hands shot out to brace himself as the world violently spun, a scream wrenching from his throat as he landed on his hand, a scream that only rose in volume as the cop kneeling on his back pulled his hands back into handcuffs. He gagged on bile in his throat, his stomach heaving acid into a puddle on the dirt under his face.

"M-my wrist!" he gasped pathetically. "Dude, my wrist is busted!"

An unsympathetic snort sounded from behind him as he was hauled up, and his knees nearly gave out on him before he was man-handled into the back of the police cruiser. "Shouldn't have shop-lifted, kid." The guy had a slight smirk pasted on his face as the kid turned, but it disappeared when he caught sight of the kid's face. "Did you get into a fight?" the officer, a deputy asked.

The kid turned his head away, and the deputy huffed, rattling off his Miranda rights before shutting him in the car and driving off.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The deputy wasn't any gentler with the kid at the police station, thunking him down hard in a chair under brilliant fluorescent lights. The kid winced, trying to keep still, but the deputy stuck his hand into the kid's pocket, and he flinched. "You'll have to buy me dinner first, man," the kid barked out raggedly with a hoarse laugh, and they deputy gave him a dirty look, pulling out his wallet and fishing through its meager contents.

"What's your name, kid?" the deputy glared at him, unsatisfied with the lack of an ID.

The kid grunted in reply, eyes half-shut against the bright lights as he tried to shift carefully. 

"That's not an answer, kid, try again."

The kid peered up at him, grimacing his way through a scowl. "Fuck you."

The deputy leaned on the table, looming over him with eyes narrowed as he grabbed the kid's shoulder to pull him up straighter, and the kid yelped, choking as his stomach revolted at the sudden shock of pain lancing through his wrist. "Let's try that again."

The kid let loose a cry that dropped into a low, nauseated moan of pain as he tried to pull away.

"Fine, we'll book you as a John Doe and send you up to the jailhouse where you can sit with the rest of the creeps until you feel like telling us something more."

"But--"

The door swung open, and a young woman with dark brown hair hurried in, glaring at the deputy. "Have you taken him to see the doc yet?" she demanded hotly.

"He can wait until he gets over himself and tells us his name," the deputy drawled, leaning back against the table and scratching at his chin.

"He's got two black eyes, a busted nose, and a split lip and you're worried about his name?" she shot back angrily. 

The kid winced. "M' head hurts, too. 'n my wrist. 'n I think a coupla ribs," he mumbled quietly.

"Why won't you tell us your name, sweetheart?" the female cop asked gently, concern in her soft brown eyes.

The kid's eyes narrowed and he lifted he chin, barely suppressing a whimper of pain.

"Can you tell us what happened to you, at least?" she tried again.

The kid fell silent, his head drooping slightly.

"My name's Jody Mills," she finally offered gently with a small encouraging smile, but the kid just shrugged. She sighed, turning back to the deputy. "I'll take him to the doc and we'll see how bad it is. We'll worry about a name later." With a glance over her shoulder, she asked the kid, "If I take the cuffs off, you gonna run?" 

Slowly, he shook his head. "No, Ms. Mills," he mumbled, eyes on the table in front of him as the room swam. He squeezed his eyes shut with a groan, jumping when he felt a hand on his chin, his eyes snapping open with an undignified noise as Ms. Mills lifted his chin slightly and peered down at him. 

"Call me Jody, sweetheart." She frowned, ducking her head slightly. "Shit," she muttered, releasing the kid to fumble for the cuffs, and the kid immediately cradled his aching wrist to his chest the moment it was released, touching it gingerly.

"What?" He squinted up at her, his vision swimming.

She shook her head slightly, slipping one hand under his left arm to escort him outside, and he stumbled along beside her. "If you can behave yourself, you can sit up front. But I'm gonna call the doc and ask him to meet us at the ER."

The kid's head shot up, eyes rounding despite his pain, and tried to pull away with a whine. "No! No, no hospitals, please!"

Jody bit her lip, wincing in sympathy as she slid her free arm around his shoulders, pulling the poor kid in close. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but you're hurt pretty bad. Worse than you might think. The doc can't take x-rays, and I'm not sure how bad your head is, but your pupils are different sizes."

The kid went still in her grasp, unfamiliar with the notion of such gentle contact, leaning against her shoulder and panting. He shut his eyes. "Shit. That's....that's bad, isn't it?" 

He felt Jody nod. "I know it's scary, but I promise to stay with you. I promise to keep you safe."

Oddly enough, he felt like he could believe that as she released him and carefully guided him to sit in the front seat of her cruiser. She then rounded to the other side, sliding into the driver's seat, drawing in a deep breath before she slid in the key in and started the car. "Is that why you won't tell us your name? Because you're scared of whoever hurt you?"

The kid leaned against the door of the car, head lowered in shame. "No."

Jody threw a look his way as she pulled out of the lot. "You can tell me your name, sweetheart. You can tell me anything right now and it'll be completely off the record, I swear."

They passed down the street and he stared out the window--at the green field in the center of town, the steepled church, the ice cream shop, a restaurant called Cus's. Small businesses lined the main street, neat rows of houses with clipped lawns and painted fences beyond. This was not his life. This was not the life he had.

He hazarded a glance back at Jody as they pulled to a stop at a red light and found her already watching him worriedly, so he drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and released it on a long sigh.

"I can't remember."


	3. Fourteen Years Ago; Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It'll be short chapters for a while. I just went back to work full time and I'm hurting for sleep.

Jody stared at him, stunned. "What do you mean, you don't remember?"

He shrugged cautiously. "Just that. When I woke up, nothing seemed familiar. Not even my own face in the mirror."

Jody raised a brow before turning back to the road as the light turned green, nudging forward. "I should hope that a bloody and bruised face isn't familiar. You were unconscious?"

He grimaced at her. "Uh, yeah, I guess. Didn't feel like I'd been sleeping."

"We'll just have to call you John Doe after all, I guess."

He stiffened, turning away as cold shot of fear coursed through him. "No."

Jody hazarded another sideways glance. "No? Do you remember something?"

Shivering, he shook his head faintly. "N-no, I just...I just...I can't explain. John is bad. John is really bad."

"Was whoever hurt you named John?" Jody frowned.

"I dunno."

With a wince, Jody ventured, "Was it...you know, a john?"

"I said I don't kn--" he snapped. "Wait, what?"

"I told you, everything you said would be off the record right now, and I meant it. Were you hooking? You know, prostitution?"

His eyes widened and his features twisted in disgust. "Wh-no! Gross, no!" He paused, considering how his body felt. "I-I mean, I don't....I don't think so? I don't feel, um...just like I was waled on is all."

"But you don't remember," Jody replied.

His shoulders sagged. "No."

"Well, we can't call you kid, and John is a no. You have anything in your wallet?"

"A couple bucks and a picture? The deputy took it." He started when the wallet landed in his lap a beat later. "Isn't this evidence?"

Jody shrugged, and he opened the wallet, sliding the photo out. When Jody held her hand out at the next stop light, he handed it over.

"The older boy looks like you, without being as black and blue. Maybe the other kid is your brother?"

He shrugged. "What about the car?"

"No idea, but I'll ask Bobby Singer. He owns the garage and salvage yard, and that man knows cars." She flipped the picture over. "There's writing on the back." She handed the picture back as the light changed.

He hadn't noticed it before, and he squinted down at it, the ink slightly smudged. "The, uh, the second one is Sam."

"Sound familiar?" Jody asked.

He frowned, frustrated. "Sort of? It feels like I should know it but couldn't tell you why. But I do know it's not me."

"So the first?"

He peered at it harder, battling against his swimming vision. "Uh...B-Ben? Dear?" He squeezed his eyes shut. "My head hurts so bad. My eyes won't...they can't seem to focus."

As they pulled up in front of the ER, Jody took the picture back, looking at the words one more time. "Dean."

His eyes popped open as he looked up, a faint spark of recognition.

"Does that sound familiar?"

"I, uh, yeah. That's..." He paused, licking his lips. "I think that's me."

"Okay, Dean," Jody said, reaching out to lightly squeeze his arm.

He flinched. "Sorry." The apology fell from his mouth hurriedly. "I'm sorry, please, please don't..."

"Dean?"

"Please don't be mad, please don't hurt me," Dean blurted out, cradling his arm closer to his chest.

Jody quickly climbed out, circling around to Dean's side and pulling the door open before crouching down beside him from outside of the car. "Hey, hey, you're okay, sweetie. Whatever happened, we'll figure it out. We'll keep you safe, okay?" When Jody reached up to brush at his cheek, he realized he was trembling and crying. How embarrassing!

"Let's go inside, Dean, and let Dr. Shurley take a look at you. If nothing else, there's lots of pretty nurses here."

Dean just nodded, turning to let Jody help him out of the car by his left arm and allowing her to lead him in, still shivering and silently shedding tears as the smell of cleaning chemicals hit his nose.

Jody waved at personnel, most of them going ignored by Dean, clinging to her with as tight a grip as he dared. She nudged him into a small office, and Dean looked up as a thin and somewhat reedy voice greeted him. "Ah, hello, you must be the John Doe." The man was a bit on the short side with curly hair, and Dean winced.

"Ah, call me, um, Dean? Are you...Dr. Shurley?"

The man nodded."Is Dean your name?"

Dean shrugged. "I think so? I don't know, but it feels more right than John."

"So tell me what happened." He leaned in, peering at Dean's eyes with a squint. Grabbing a pen light, he held it up. "I'm going to start examining you while you talk."

Dean shot a panicked glance at Jody, and she coughed, catching Dr. Shurley's attention.

"He doesn't remember anything," she said as Dr. Shurley held one eye, then the other open, flashing the light as Dean's gaze darted back to him.

"Except his name?"

"It was on the back of a picture I have."

"Okay, well then tell me what hurts? Did you lose consciousness? Any nausea?"

"A little nausea, but mostly because of my wrist. I guess I lost consciousness because I woke up not remembering anything." As he listed off aches and pains, the doctor and the cop's matching frowns grew deeper and deeper, and when Dean raised his shirt to show Dr. Shurley the deep bruising on his back and chest, Jody's face went positively murderous.

"Dean," she growled, but Dean jerked away from her. Her face softened. "Dean?" she tried again, gentler. He peeked up as Dr. Shurley wrote up the orders for a CT scan and x-rays. "I will do my damnedest to keep you in our custody until we figure it out."

Dean nodded as a nurse brought in a gurney to take Dean to radiology. A wave of panic washed over him as she began peppering him with questions. Did he have depression? Did he have trouble sleeping? Did he have a history of seizures? Hell if he knew.

"Memory lapse," Dr. Shurley piped up from his conversation with Jody.

The nurse nodded as she settled Dean in and began to roll him away, the panic cresting and crashing into him as he yelped and sat up jerkily. "No!"

Jody started slightly as the doctor and nurse both rushed to push him back down again.

Dean cast a desperate glance in Jody's direction, his breath quickening to heaving gasps. "I--I don't wanna go alone!" He was whining and he knew it as stared at Jody with wide, pleading eyes, but with a gentle and worried smile, she nodded. Dean allowed himself to be lowered back to the gurney again as Jody came to his side, taking his trembling hand in hers.

As the nurse began to push the gurney down the hall, Jody stayed at his side.


	4. Fourteen Years Ago; Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Graphic description of IV insertion, description of enclosed space (MRI machine), serious medical emergency.

Jody stayed, even as the nurse brought him into the prep area, gently informing him of what was going to happen, the young policewoman gently squeezing back as Dean tightly clutched her hand.

"...and then we'll inject the contrast dye and take some more images, okay? Now, the injection dye might upset your stomach or leave a funny taste in your mouth, but that's completely normal. Are you claustrophobic? Any allergies?"

Dean blinked up at the nurse, squinting as she blurred slightly before him. "I...I dunno?" he finally replied, as though he was asking her.

The nurse frowned, forcing Jody to take a step back. Given that Dean had only one working hand at the moment, she needed it, taking Dean's temperature, blood pressure, pulse, and pulse ox. While she work on that, another nurse stepped in long enough to splint his wrist and keep it still. With the possibility of a serious head injury looming, x-rays would have to wait until later. For the moment, the splint would have to do.

The first nurse pulled on clean gloves, setting a square of plasticized paper under Dean's arm, and wiping down the crook of the one elbow where one decent blue vein shone through at the surface of his skin. Dean turned away, clamping his eyes shut but remaining silent even as the nurse wrapped his arm in a tourniquet, checking over his vein again. "There'll be a pinch," she warned, and Dean grit his teeth as she pushed the needle in, threading the hard plastic tubing in behind it and sliding the rest of the insertion set-up out. When Dean opened his eyes again, she was screwing in a connecting length of flexible plastic tubing to the other end, and then she placed a rectangle of clear plastic, sticky on the edges, over the top of the IV site. Dean frowned at it as she screwed the line in to another length of tubing hooked up to a machine.

"What's that?" he asked, motioning at the machine.

"That machine is going to push the contrast for us," she explained, removing her gloves and tossing them in a lidded garbage can with an orange sticker on it. "Are you ready?"

Dean glanced up at Jody, and the nurse made a soft noise of understanding. "She can't go in with you, sweetheart. She can be on the other side of the glass, though, and she can wait for you until you're done. And they'll give you something to squeeze if you panic and want to get out."

Jody nodded to confirm. "I'd come in if I could."

"Why can't you?"

"There's a lot of radiation in there," Jody supplied, and Dean quirked one eyebrow at her.

"You can't come in because there's a lot of radiation, but you're going to stick me in there on purpose?" the teen asked incredulously.

"That's different, Dean. They don't run around doing MRIs on people who don't need them. But someone hurt you badly enough that you lost consciousness and a significant portion of your memory. That's very concerning, and it makes an MRI a necessary evil for you. But I'll be right outside waiting, okay?"

Dean finally nodded, and the nurse wheeled him in, the tech helping him scoot over and sticking ear plugs in his ears and headphones over his head before helping him lie back, a wedge propped under his legs and a blanket thrown over them. Dean understood why on the blanket--the room was frigid! Then the tech handed him a small bulb that seemed familiar in a strange way before the table he was lying on slid back into the tube of the machine.

Now he understood why the room was so cold as he stared up at the white above him--it was actually significantly warmer inside of the tube. The longer he stared up, though, the worse he found his nerves to be, and so he shut his eyes, jumping when the machine banged and clanged to life around him. Had the nurse warned him that the machine was going to make so much noise?? She must have, but he must have missed it. Who knew MRIs were that loud? Maybe that part was worse than being trapped in a small, narrow tube for....did she say how long it would be? He couldn't remember.

Dean felt like he'd been laying there forever, but with his eyes closed, even with the banging, buzzing, and whirring going on around him, his drowsiness was enough that it pulled at him, his vision fuzzing around the edges slightly. The sudden silence startled him almost as badly as the noise starting up had, and then through the headphones, he could faintly hear Dr. Shurley letting him know they were going to do the contrast now. A moment later, heat ran up his arm, his face feeling flushed as his mouth flooded with the taste of pennies, and his already questionable stomach lurched violently as Dean dry-heaved on the table, struggling valiantly to keep from vomiting inside the machine. For a moment, his hand tightened around the bulb and he genuinely considered giving it a squeeze, but Jody's voice came back to him--a necessary evil. He was hurt and they were trying to help, as much as he hated hospitals. He knew he was beat to hell, but even he didn't know the extent of the damage. He just knew, somehow, that not being able to remember things was usually a bad sign.

So he soldiered on through the nausea as the machine came to life again, keeping him trapped in the tube as the time stretched on.

A bout of vertigo struck hard, and when he cracked his eyes open, his vision was blurred, everything swaying and lighting up along the edges of his vision before the bulb slid from his hand and his eyes rolled back in his head.

From inside the control room, Jody sat up in concern as the bulb shifted suddenly, shooting to her feet as Dean's body abruptly arched as he cried out. "Dean!"

The doctor hit the intercom. "Dean? Dean, are you alright?" the doctor demanded, even as Dean's body relaxed and arched again, spasming violently. "Shit," the doctor swore. "Get him out!"

By the time the medical team had everything shut down and were pulling Dean out of the MRI tube, foam was speckling his lips, and the nurse and doctor rushed to roll Dean to his side as the doctor shouted instructions, pulling the headphones free. Even though he'd been unable to finish the scan with contrast, he had seen enough to know Dean had a severe concussion, swelling evident. "IV corticosteroids, now!"

"Which kind?" the nurse asked, trying to remain calm.

Dr. Shurley bit his lower lip, thinking quickly. "Kenalog."

"Anti-convulsants?" the nurse asked.

"Push the steroids, give him a minute. If it doesn't stop, then grab the Cerebyx."

The nurse nodding, pushing the steroids into the line, and they watched as the seizure gradually came to a stop.

"Dean?" the doctor asked as the tech fished the ear plugs out of the teen's ears.

No response came; Dean lay still.

"Dean, can you open your eyes?" Dr. Shurley tried again.

The nurse passed a small device to the doctor. "Dean? Open your eyes." When Dean still didn't respond, Dr. Shurley pressed the end of the thin filament protruding from the device gently against Dean's skin. Dean twitched, very slightly, his body curving away from the pain instinctively, but there was no other response, no opening of the eyes and no voice.

Jody hung back by the door, her lips parted as she hitched a silent sob.


	5. Fourteen Years Ago; Jody

Dean was finally stable, dosed up on steroids with doctors keeping a keen eye on him to monitor the pressure in his head. After they finally managed to complete an MRI with contrast, the swelling and damage was apparent, severe enough that Dr. Shurley was concerned about long-term damage to his patient's brain.

After passing the distressing news along to Jody, he began to look for information for her on what to expect from a traumatic brain injury. With Dean in a coma and kept there with medication, there was no telling exactly how extensive it was, but until the swelling reduced enough that Dr. Shurley felt it safe to take him off the medication, Dean would sleep.

Jody stayed in his room, holding his good hand gingerly as another doctor carefully set Dean's broken wrist before allowing a nurse to wrap it in plaster and allowing it to set. Then Jody stayed through dinner, picking at a tray of bland chicken and overcooked potatoes. And then she stayed until the sun had set, and a round, kind-faced nurse named Missouri, new on the night shift, poked her head in.

"Go home and rest, honey," she drawled sweetly when Jody lifted tired, sad eyes to her face.

"I can't. He didn't want to be alone. I don't want him to wake up alone."

Missouri smiled. "He's not waking up any time soon. You need to rest and go to work tomorrow."

Jody opened her mouth to protest, squeaking out a strangled, nearly tearful, "But--" before Missouri shook her head.

"It's best if you go to work tomorrow, trust me. I can get folks to sit and stay with him." Missouri hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe Ellen during the morning to early afternoon. Pamela Barnes will stay up nights no problem. We'll see who I can find for afternoon to evening, but I have a feeling the answer's right around the corner," she said as she escorted Jody out.

They had no sooner turned the corner to the elevators when a young man with messy, dark hair, a sweater vest, and a trench coat plowed into Jody, dropping a book.

Jody bent to pick it up as the young man stammered out apologies. "O-officer, I-I am s-so sorry!"

Jody smiled, glancing at the cover of the book. Harry Potter. "Are you enjoying this so far?" she asked as she handed the book back, brushing aside his apology.

He  gingerly took the book, looking down at his feet. "I haven't started it yet. My friend Charlie loaned it to me."

"Did he like it?" Jody asked, and the boy flushed.

"She, and yes ma'am."

Jody glanced at Missouri, and Missouri raised a brow.

"What's your name? I'm Sheriff Mills, but you can call me Jody. I don't think we've met before."

The boy looked up, startled by her friendliness, before shaking his head. "My name's Castiel. Novak. I just moved in with my uncle, he works here. Dr. Shurley? I mean, I've spent summers here in the past, but..."

Jody's face lit up. "Ah! I just moved here not that long ago myself. I met Dr. Shurley today, he has a new patient I came in with."

Castiel nodded soberly. "I hope they'll feel better soon, then."

Jody bit her lip, glancing at Missouri again.

Missouri coughed slightly. "He's a ward of the state since we don't know his full identity."

Jody nodded as Castiel tilted his head and squinted at her.

"The young man is in a coma, and we're trying to find someone who can spend the late afternoon and evening with him. Do you know anyone?"

The squint only narrowed further. "For what?"

Jody mentally fumbled slightly. Her reasoning was silly, and she knew it.

"So he isn't alone, honey," Missouri cut in. "Company is good. You can do your homework here and then you can read to him or talk about your day. Hold his hand if you feel comfortable with that."

Castiel relaxed a little, mostly just looking rumpled now. "I see. Well, studies do say that people in comas sometimes can hear people."

"Could you ask some of your friends, maybe?" Jody pressed, but Castiel offered his hand out, Jody instinctively clasping it tight to shake it.

"I can start tomorrow."

Jody started with surprise. "Really?"

Castiel nodded somberly.

Jody grinned, suppressing the urge to hug him. "Great, thanks Castiel. His name is Dean, we think he's about your age." She told him the room number for the next day.

A brief look of surprise crossed his face, and for a moment, he looked as though he wanted to ask something. He refrained.

"Okay, I'll bring homework and the book."

"Great." Jody rifled through her pocket and handed Castiel a business card. "My direct line and cell phone. Please call me with any questions or if there are any changes."

Castiel grasped the card, looking from it to her. "Ah. Since you brought him in, you're invested in the outcome."

Jody nodded, flushing very faintly, but Castiel smiled.

"It's admirable, Sher--er, Jody. Caring is a wonderful and rare thing."

Then Castiel excused himself, disappearing down the hall and into the break room.

That left Jody to asking Ellen while Missouri contacted Pamela Barnes, so she left another card with Missouri. After she left, she found herself driving in the direction of the Roadhouse on her way home, so she swung by, stepping into the bar with a nod to the regulars. Ellen swept out of the kitchen and dropped orders off at a table, positively beaming at the sight of Jody.

"Howdy, Sheriff! Word's going 'round you picked up a stray. How is he?" she asked as Jody slid onto a stool.

Jody's phone pinged, and a quick glanced proved that it was an unknown number texting her. She slid her finger across the screen, reading the text from Missouri confirming that Pamela Barnes was in before she looked back up at Ellen with a grim smile.

"Not good. Someone messed the kid up pretty bad and he crashed." Ellen winced, and Jody added, "He's in a coma. Missouri said you might be able to sit with him in the morning and early afternoons. We found someone for later in the day and during the night so you could be here for your late crowd."

Ellen frowned a bit, thinking before she nodded. "Count me in. Your usual tonight?"

Jody smiled. "Yeah. Thanks, Ellen." She knew Ellen understood she meant it for more than just the food.


	6. Fourteen Years Ago; Jody

After a sleepless night, Jody spent the entire morning cursing her existence, drinking copious amounts of coffee and wavering between cursing Missouri's existence and resisting calling Ellen every ten seconds to check in with her.

As it was, she'd only texted Ellen once. Okay, twice.

Alright, she'd texted fifteen times until Ellen threatened to turn her cell phone off and unplug the phone in Dean's room because the answer was the same it had been every time: no change.

It broke Jody's heart to think of the young man lying there in the hospital, unconscious. Was his mother worried sick? Did his father spend the night looking everywhere for his son? Did he have a frantic little brother who desperately wanted to know his big brother was okay? It wasn't fair, Dean lying there in that shape, with no answer as to who did it to him. And sure, Dean might have been caught stealing, but he had been hungry, and a knock to the head can do all kinds of things to a person. She frowned, swearing to herself that as soon as Dean was awake, she would question him more thoroughly, maybe track down where he'd come from to see if they could find out who did this to him and punish them.

Why had Missouri insisted she come to work today?

The clock seemed to move so slowly, Jody was afraid if she looked away for too long, that time would have gone backwards when she looked up again.

But then there was a commotion by the front desk, one of their younger recruits, Donna Hascum, trying to get a middle-aged gentleman to sit down. Jody wandered out to investigate, wrinkling her nose in disgust when she realized what the problem was--he was drunk, or pretty damn hungover or some combination of the two. Either way, he looked a mess, didn't smell any better, and mostly slurred his speech. 

Jody stepped a little further into the front of the office. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked, frowning at him.

"Lookin' fer the sheriff," he drawled, leaning against the counter, his elbow sliding across the surface and nearly faceplanting into it. He grunted, scowling in disgust as if the desk had personally insulted him.

"You found her. Sheriff Mills," she replied stiffly. "What can I do for you?"

"I need to file a missing person report," he grunted, frowning at her in disbelief. "A woman sheriff, though? Really?"

"Hurleyville has made it into the 20th century, sir." Jody scowled at him. Something was off, and it really bugged her.

"I can handle it, Jody," Donna offered, but Jody just shook her head.

"No, I've got it. My office is this way, follow me, please," Jody said.

The man trailed after her, frowning at the back of her head the whole way as Jody grabbed the necessary paperwork.

"So, who are you, and who is missing?" Jody asked as she stepped into her office. As soon as in the man had stepped in behind her, she shut the door.

"My name's John. John Smith. I'm a travelin' salesman outta Texas.  The kid's name is Michael. He's got dark blond hair, green eyes, about yea tall," he motioned with his hand, "kinda skinny and scrappy."

"You have a picture maybe?" Jody asked, sitting behind her desk.

John fished something out of pocket and passed it over, Jody taking it between her fingers.

"I can get a copy of this made and get the original photo back to you, sir," she offered, but John snorted and waved her off.

"I don't need it anymore," he replied, glaring at the small rectangle in her hands like it was offensive.

Jody hazarded a glance downward, biting back a startled gasp. Looking back at her from the photo was none other than Dean, although significantly less bruised and battered.

"What is he to you, Mr. Smith?"

"I'm the boy's guardian."

Jody stared at him. "What about his parents?"

"Mother died in a fire when he was little, father died in an auto accident not that long ago. He's taking it pretty hard." The answer was glib, and if he was lying, Jody had a hard time telling.

"So what happened before he disappeared?"

"Little weasel got into an argument with me, wouldn't listen, and when I tried to get him to see things my way, he booked it and disappeared on me. He's sixteen, but a stubborn little shit. Even tried to get a bit physical with me so I had to show 'im his place 'n all." John scratched his chin, nails scraping over short stubble.

Jody's eyes scanned Mr. Smith for injuries, but even walking in, he didn't seem like he had been in any pain. Dean, however, had been a mess. Even if Dean had gotten into a confrontation with this man and thrown a punch, he'd gone far beyond any reasonable retaliation. "May I ask the nature of your disagreement?"

"Son of a bitch insisted he's something he ain't. I insisted he's exactly what I say he is."

Her blood ran cold at those words, and even though she had almost no evidence to confirm--her eyes skidded across John's bruised and cut-up knuckles--she knew in her gut a pretty damn good idea of what had gone down. Legal guardian or not, there was no way she could let Dean go back to this man. And things already weren't adding up, so something was pretty damn fishy if you asked her.

Her mind set about working quickly. Sixteen was old enough to be emancipated. If the charges stuck for the theft, then he'd be placed down at Sonny Portillo's right outside of town. If not, Jody was pretty sure she could find a safe place for him to stay, maybe help with a job. He'd probably need to catch up on school, too, if he was traveling with his "guardian" instead of in school.

She numbly handed him the report to fill out, waiting until he'd passed it back, gripping the clipboard with a terse smile as she held her hand out. To her surprise, he shook it. "We'll let you know if he turns up, Mr. Smith," she said, impressed she'd managed to keep some degree of levity in her voice.

"You do that, Miss Mills."

"It's Sheriff Mills to you, sir."

Jody watched as he let himself out, and Donna bustled in after him. "I can go file that for you, Jody, if you'd like. There's been a call out to Cus'. Derek and Barry again."

Jody smiled thinly at Donna. "No thanks, Donna, I'd like to file this myself. Why don't you and Doug go follow up on that. Those two aren't too much for the likes of you anyway. You don't really need me for something like that."

Donna beamed at her. "Oh, of course not, Jody! We'll head out right away!"

Jody leaned back, relaxing a little, and waiting until they were gone to sneak her way back into the lab. The technician was on a lunch break, so it too very little effort on Jody's part to treat the page for prints, and it wasn't long before she photographed a clean thumb print on the back and several partials, scanning them into the system to run down a comparison.

While she waited, she picked up the photograph so callously discarded by this man, this "John Smith". It was definitely Dean, but younger and happier. The boy she saw yesterday was anything but happy, a scared kid who probably wanted his mom and to go home--when he had neither to go back to.

When the computer pinged, it came back to one John Winchester, a record from years ago as trouble-making teen, and then nothing for years until his prints began popping up at crime scenes. A breaking and entering here, a petty theft there. Later, there were even a few murder cases where he'd been wanted for questioning, but the cases had been closed after the supposed real murderers had been caught.

Jody printed out the report, but she was careful in deleting her search and cleaning up the supplies she used before she slipped out of the lab and back into her office. She snagged an empty folder, tucking the report and the sheet that "Mr. Smith" had filled out, but she paused, staring at the picture of Dean paper-clipped to it for a moment before she grabbed it and pocketed it, tucking the folder into the back of her filing cabinet, stamped with a clear "CLOSED" on the outside.

If anyone asked, "Michael" had come back on his own.


	7. Fourteen Years Ago;  Ellen

Ellen had arrived bright and early in the morning, finding Pamela sitting in the chair beside the bed in the room Jody had given her the number to. The woman's eyes were closed, and Ellen thought perhaps she might be sleeping, so Ellen left her alone to peer at the young man in the bed, wired up with a tube down his throat. Bruises, dark and angry red and purple, bloomed across his face, leaving him swollen and puffy, two black eyes, a split lip, a cut on his cheek. Ellen's hands tightened into fists. If she ever met whoever did this to him, a poor kid--

"He's safe here," Pamela's words cut into Ellen's runaway train of thought.

"I know he's safe in the hospital. It's after he gets out, I'm worried about."

"I mean he's safe here in Hurleyville. He'll need the comfort of that, not rage over the injustice done to him," Pamela replied, opening her eyes with a slow smile. "Jody has that part covered. He'll need you to mother him instead, Ellen."

Ellen nodded and Pamela stood, inclining her head politely.

"Thanks for the advice, Pam."

Ellen sank into the chair after Pamela left, her eyes returning to the broken face before her. Jody had said she thought the boy was sixteen, but he looked so much younger, so fragile. She shifted awkwardly, jumping when her cell phone pinged, and she scrambled for it, thinking it might be Jo, or the high school.

It was Jody.

**JM (8:25 am): How is he doing?**

Ellen looked him over before replying.

**EH (8:26 am): Looks like he went ten rounds. He'll need a good meal after he wakes up.**

**JM (8:28 am): Do you do deliveries?**

**EH (8:31 am): Only for special cases.**

Ellen chuckled slightly. Her phone was silent for about ten minutes until it chimed again.

**JM (8:43 am): Any change?**

Ellen sighed and texted back a negative response. A few minutes later, though...

**JM (8:48 am): How about now?**

**JM (8:51 am): Any change now?**

**JM (8:59 am): Now?**

Ellen frowned.

**EH (9:03 am): Don't you have work to do?**

**JM (9:06 am): I'm just worried about him.**

Ellen could understand that; after all, Jody had seen the kid collapse into seizures and not wake up. That had to be at least a little traumatizing.

**EH (9:11 am): I know. I'll let you know if anything happens.**

**JM (9:13 am): You promise?**

**EH (9: 14 am): Of course.**

**JM (9:17 am): Even if he just twitches in his sleep?**

Ellen grit her teeth before firing off a final text.

**EH (9:25 am): I swear to God, woman, if you don't stop texting me until my shift is over, I will turn off my cell phone, unplug the phone in here, and refuse any  calls to the desk! I will text you if anything changes, or I will text you when I leave.**

Ellen watched the dots appear on her phone, then disappear, and then come to life again before a one-word response came through, enough to make Ellen feel a little bit bad.

**JM (9:30 am): Sorry.**

Ellen had already spent more than an hour texting Jody and just watching Dean, but it was quiet and lonely, even when a nurse came in to check his vitals.

She smiled at Ellen. "You should talk to him. Or read to him. They sometimes react to voices."

Ellen glanced down at the book in her lap, having completely forgotten about it. "Oh. Of course." She help up the book, and the nurse leaned closer in interest.

"Vampirates?"

"It's a series. My daughter has it, but with swash-buckling pirates and vampire pirates, and only a little bit by the way of love stories, I thought he might like it."

"Well, that does sound unusual!" the nurse chuckled before leaving.

Ellen smiled, lifted the book, opened it, and began to read.

"As the first crack of thunder broke over Crescent Moon Bay, Grace Tempest opened her eyes. A flash of sheet lightning broke behind the curtains. Shivering, she threw back the bedclothes and walked over to the bedroom window..."*

Ellen took a break from reading when lunch came, poking at the food in mild disgust.

"This is the healthy garbage they're gonna feed you, kid. When you're doing better, I'm gonna bring you a bacon cheeseburger, fries, a slab of homemade apple pie."

Dean's mouth just barely twitched up at the corners around the plastic mouthpiece, and Ellen sat up, grabbing her phone to snap a picture. She attached the photo to a text.

**EH (12:42 pm): A way to a man's heart is still through his stomach.**

Jody replied faster than Ellen was expecting.

**JM (12:44 pm): What was he smiling about??**

**EH (12:48 pm): Food, what else?**

Ellen genuinely smiled.

**EH (12:49 pm): I promised to feed him when he wakes up.**

**JM (12: 52 pm): Good.**

 

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When Castiel arrived after school to relieve Ellen, he swung his bag onto his shoulder, hopping off the one and only bus that went through town and shading his eyes to peer up at the building. Then he shoved his hands into his pockets and shuffled inside to grab a visitor's badge from the old lady volunteering at the counter. He was hesitant to make his way upstairs, and he questioned yet again why he'd volunteered to do this, especially since it had meant brushing off his friend, Charlie. She'd been incredibly understanding, but he still felt bad for ditching her for a stranger. All she'd said was, "Volunteering is good for your karma!"

He trudged down the hall, pausing outside the door before peeking in to find Ellen reading to whomever was lying on the bed. He e waited until Ellen finished reading, tucking  bookmark in and closing the book before he stepped in shyly.

"Hello, Mrs. Harvelle."

Ellen looked up at him with a smile. "Castiel, good to see you. And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Ellen, hon?"

Castiel smiled back. "My apologies, my...my mother," he said, his expression faltering. "My mother always insisted on manners."

"Your mother," Ellen replied with a frown, "can kiss my rear. I don't think much of mothers like her."

Castiel nodded shyly. "You fill in for her just fine, Mrs. Harv--Ellen."

Ellen softened, glancing at the bed and drawing Castiel's gaze.

He couldn't help it; he blanched in horror at the sight before him, the battered boy ensconced in blankets and tubing.

"Oh my G--," Castiel gasped out, cutting off the last word as he spared his mother another thought. "What happened?"

Ellen stood, vacating the chair for Castiel.

"Jody has her theories. Her main two are that he got into a fight, and...well, that perhaps a parent or guardian..."

Castiel went even paler, hand shooting to cover a scar on his cheek. "P-perhaps he'll be able to...shed a light when he awakes."

Ellen shook her head sadly. "One can hope, but I have my doubts. Jody mentioned he was showing signs of memory loss before he, well, fell unconscious."

The last part was spoken numbly, as if he'd simply become that way without cause.

"Well," Ellen said, pausing in the doorway, "I have to get to work, hon. You swing by sometime, I'll yell Jo to give you a sundae or something, ok?"

Castiel nodded, not even dragging his eyes away from Dean's face. "Take care, Ellen."

And then he was alone in the room with the poor boy, the only words coming to mind slipping from his mouth.

"Hello, Dean."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vampirates is a real series by Justin Somper  
> *pg 3, Demons of the Ocean, All rights reserved by Little, Brown, and Company, 2005.


	8. Fourteen Years Ago; Castiel

Days passed like that, with a cycle of Pamela, Ellen, Castiel, and Pamela's return in the evening. Occasionally Dean would shift, or his expression would show small signs of change. Once in a while, his hand would tighten around Ellen or Castiel's fingers as they read to him. But Even after Dr. Shurley had determined the swelling had gone down and taken Dean off the medication to keep him under, Dean remained asleep

Jody was heartbroken over the boy's situation, even though Chuck assured her it was normal. There was nothing she could do, either for him or for justice...or for whoever was the other little boy in the picture. If Dean had a younger brother and something had happened to their parents, they might have been separated in the foster system. But with only the first name of Sam, that wasn't much to go on.

She visited Dean often in the meantime, every day when she got off work, and she'd listen to Castiel read or ask for Pamela's guidance.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Pam."

"Exactly what you're doing. Protect him and be there for him. Believe me when I say that this boy does things at his own pace and no one else's. Push him, he'll only retreat. Be a safe place and he'll come back."

The first time he finally woke again, Castiel was seated beside him and reading, holding Dean's good hand. One moment, he was still and silent, but in the next instant, he groaned, tightening his grip on Castiel's fingers. His eyes blinked open blearily, and he squinted over at Castiel, squeezing his hand again and making a soft noise around the tubing in his throat. Castiel glanced up, pausing mid-sentence in his reading.

"You're...you're awake."

Dean made another sound before his eyes slid shut again, and Castiel rushed to text Jody and his uncle.

 **CN (3:17):**   **He woke up briefly.**

His phone pinged almost instantly in reply.

**JM (3:18): How long? Is he still awake? Did he say anything?**

Castiel sighed, his fingers tripping awkwardly over the screen.

**CN (3:21): Barely a minute, no, and he still has the tube in his throat.**

**CS (3:22): I'll check on him when I finish at the clinic in town.**

  

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It was a few hours before Chuck arrived, Castiel still sitting by Dean's side and reading.

"Any more changes?" Chuck asked quietly.

"He's been moving some, but he hasn't opened his eyes again."

As if on cue, however, Dean shifted again, moaning around the tubing and pulling his hand from Castiel's to paw at the mouthpieces as his chest began to heave, fighting the machine.

Chuck rushed forward, pulling his hand away. "Hang on, Dean, hang on. Can you hear me?"

Dean whined and struggled, and Castiel snagged hand santizer and a pair of gloves before he moved to the other side of the bed to run a hand over Dean's forehead. "Don't fight it," Castiel murmured quietly, "you're on a ventilator. If you can hear us, blink once for yes."

Dean whined again, restlessly rocking his head, but he blinked red-rimmed eyes filling with tears, two of them escaping and leaving twin trails down his face. Castiel reached up and gently swiped them away with his thumb as Chuck quickly cleaned his own hands and pulled on gloves and then Castiel tugged the rolling table closer, pushing a pink basin over toward his uncle.

"Okay, Dean, in just a moment, I'm going to remove the tubing. I will do the pulling, just cough when I say so, okay?" Chuck prompted as he began disconnecting and removing parts.

Dean blinked again, trembling faintly, and Chuck positioned his hands over the mask.

"Cough," was the only thing Chuck said after that as he began to pull.

Dean made an ugly noise as Castiel soothed him with a hand on his forehead, and as soon as the tubing pulled free, Dean gagged. Instantly, Castiel had him sitting up with a vomit basin under his chin as he spat out thick globs of mucous, stomach acid, and yellow-tinged bile.

Castiel glanced up at his uncle, the man smiling at him slightly, but Castiel looked away again, mopping at Dean's chin with a tissue.

"Water," Dean rasped out, and Castiel reached for the cup on the nightstand.

"Small sips only. I know it's tempting to drink a lot, but you'll end up throwing up again," Castiel warned before holding up the cup and angling the straw toward Dean.

Dean obeyed, drawing in tiny amounts at a time before swallowing, his eyes fixed on Castiel's face.

"Your voice...your voice was in my dreams a lot." Dean blinked sleepily. "'m tired. Wanna sleep."

"I need you to stay awake for a bit longer, Dean," Chuck said, and Dean squinted at him. "Do you remember me?"

"Dr. Shurley."

Castiel beamed, and Dean turned his head to peer up at him.

"'n you're an angel..."

Castiel started before he burst out laughing. "No, but I am named after one. Castiel."

"Cas--Cast--Casteel?" Dean's exhaustion made him stumble over the unusual name.

"Cas. Cas is good enough "

Dean grinned at him wearily, even as Chuck held his eyes open and flashed a light into them. "Follow my finger," Chuck instructed, holding up one index finger and moving it around. "Excellent. Pupils equal and reactive, good tracking. A vast improvement over a couple of weeks ago."

Dean's face fell at his words, suddenly feeling very awake. "Ex-excuse me? Did you say weeks?" He glanced from Chuck to Castiel.

Castiel nodded. "Yes, you've been in a coma for approximately eighteen days."

"But...but..."

"Dean, do you remember why you're here?" Chuck frowned.

Dean lifted his bad arm, surprised by the lack of mobility, as well as by the sharp pain that lanced up his arm. He gasped, gritting his teeth. "Yeah. Someone beat the shit out of me."

Chuck ran through basic questions--year, president, country--and Dean answered flawlessly. Out of curiosity, Castiel quizzed him on some general education knowledge, and Dean was just as competent.

But when Chuck pressed for personal information, Dean drew a blank, and trying to remember only gave him a headache.

Jody burst in a few minutes into the interrogation, and Chuck pointed at her. "Do you remember her?

"Uh..." Dean scrunched his face up. "Jo...sie? No, wait, Jody."

Relief swept over Jody's face, the woman lurching forward to hug him, which Dean awkwardly returned with one arm.

"Okay, okay, personal space," he muttered as he patted her back.

Jody pulled away, wiping at misty eyes before lightly swatting his shoulder. "You had me and a lot of other folks very worried, young man. Now that you're awake, you'll have plenty of company here."

"We should limit his visitors until he's stronger," Chuck said, shaking his head. "Too many could overwhelm him."

"Doc...what about my memory? Why can't I remember anything about myself?" Dean shifted anxiously, staring up at Chuck from the bed.

Jody's mouth pulled down at the corners. "Still nothing?"

Chuck shrugged, glancing over as Castiel offered Dean more water. "It's selective amnesia. It may be triggered by the right event or person, but for now, I believe it's an intentional way of protecting his currently fragile mind from the trauma and not a result of brain damage. I would, however, like to perform another MRI to be safe."

Dean flinched as the blood drained from his face. "No! I am not going back in that thing!"

"Dean," Castiel said gently, "it was likely the MRI that helped my uncle figure out how to treat you in the first place. You have a head injury, and that can cause so many different symptoms. It's uncomfortable, I know, but it's important to know how you've healed so we have a better idea of what to expect for your recovery."

Dean turned his head, peering up at Jody for several long minutes before he replied. "So...bringing me in saved my life."

Jody nodded, huffing a soft laugh. "It's the first time I've been glad to see a kid arrested."


	9. Fourteen Years Ago; Sam

"Dad?" Sam shook his head, trying to get his floppy hair out of his eyes, before he smoothed the back of his hand against his forehead. 

He glanced up from playing with his plane when John didn't respond, scrunching his brows up.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Sam?" John finally growled.

Sam flinched instinctively, reaching for his neck, for a necklace that wasn't there. No, he wasn't there to lend Sam the ugly God head amulet to cling to for support. 

"Where's Dean?"

John sipped from his silver flask, smacking his lips and swallowing long draught instead of answering.

"Dad, where's Dean?"

 "Ran off." John muffled a burp, swaying as he turned to Sam.

"He'll come back, though, right?" Worry pinched the corners of Sam's eyes.

"Eventually, tail between his legs."

"Can't we go look for him, Dad? It's been weeks. I'm worried," Sam whined, and John just glared at him.

"He can come back on his own or not at all, the ungrateful little freak," he shouted, and Sam cowered, whimpering, darting out onto the poorly lit motel stoop to hide and wait out his father's drunken rage. 

When his snores of deep sleep filtered through the thin wooden door, Sam crept back in, grabbing a change of clothing and a few dollars and stuffing it into a bag. Then he darted off into the night.

He made it a mile down the deserted road before a car pulled up alongside him, and he jumped when he realized it was a cop car. A young male officer peered out his open window at Sam.

"Where you headed at this hour?" 

Sam frowned, gripping the strap of his duffle and glaring at the cop in wary silence.

"Can I give you a lift at least? Make sure you get there safely?"

Sam averted his eyes. "Cops don't usually aid kids running away without getting into trouble."

"Get in," the officer urged, shifting his cruiser to park, and Sam sighed, obediently climbing in. The officer shut the window and turned up the heat against the night's chill.

"Now why are you running away?"

Sam stared at his hands, balled up in fists in his lap. "My brother's missing. Been gone for a while. I'm looking for him 'cause my dad won't."

"Why not?"

"He's convinced my brother will come home on his own. He always has, after most every fight they have, my brother and my dad," Sam mumbled quietly. "But its been almost three weeks. He's never been gone this long. My dad's too pissed still to go looking. So I have to."

The cop nodded. "But what if he does come back and you're not there, son? How's he supposed to find you?"

"We had a rule for how to find each other. Didn't work. Gotta go with plan B."

"Which is?"

"Uh, I was going to at least file a missing person report...maybe look around nearby?"

The officer sighed and shook his head. "Son, I'm sure he'll come back, if he wants to be found. Now let me take you back before you get lost or hurt. I'll see if I can get your dad to file a report."

Frown still plastered on his face, Sam thought about it. If Dean came back and Sam was gone...

"We're staying at the motel up the road."

The officer shifted gears, turning the car around and driving slowly up the road. "Don't you worry, alright now? Everything will work out fine." 

He paused in front of the motel, looking around. "Let me take you to breakfast first, give your old man time to sober up?"

Sam's head jerked up in surprise, staring at the cop with wide, rounded eyes. "How'd you--?"

"Experience."

Sam finally nodded his assent, the officer taking him to breakfast at some nondescript diner where they ordered pancakes, eggs, and bacon. Sam held out a fistful of crumpled bills at the end, but the officer just smiled and told him to put his money away.

When they returned to the motel an hour later, instead of taking Sam to the room, he headed toward the recreation room.

"Table tennis?" Sam asked, and the officer shrugged.

"An alibi."

Sam was puzzled until an hour later, when John stumbled in on them playing another round.

"Where've you been? John growled, running his fingers through his hair.

"Here, with me," the cop said. "He seemed lonely, so I hung out with him." He lobbed the ball back at Sam, who sent it flying with a nervous whack.

"Couldn't sleep. It's hard to play pingpong against yourself, though," Sam mumbled.

"He seemed worried about his brother. Have you considered--"

"Already filed a missing person reports with that uppity lady sheriff."

The officer frowned, but he patted Sam on the shoulder. "See? I told you it'll all be okay." He glanced between Sam and John before quietly excusing himself.

As Sam stared back at John, he knew--nothing would be okay.

 


	10. Fourteen Years Ago; Dean

Dean's recovery was progressing along well enough that after another week, Chuck released him back to police custody. He still struggled with balance and basic coordination to a small degree, but he was peevish at best if anyone offered help. He was only having a little trouble! He wasn't a baby, or completely incompetent. Jeez.

But even so, he struggled with tying the laces on his boots for nearly ten minutes before he growled in frustration and dropped his head against his bent knee, letting the laces hang.

"Need a hand?" an unfamiliar voice asked, and Dean's head jerked up to meet dark eyes set in a ruddy face.

Dean scowled. "No. I need my own to work. Who are you? A social worker come to stick me in some stupid foster home that doesn't even want me?" He raised defiant eyes, glinting with anger and some small trace of hurt.

"Nope. Name's Sonny. Sonny Portillo. I run a boys home on the edge of town."

"What, because no one else will take some brain damaged delinquent?"

"The doc said," Sonny said patiently, "you're experiencing residual delays from swelling and being in one position for so long. They will improve and hopefully go away completely." He motioned towards Dean's boot. "In the meantime, let me show you an easier trick."

Dean glared down at the limp laces accusingly, as if they had betrayed him. "Fine," he huffed petulantly. 

Sonny came closer, kneeling by the bed. "The place is a farm. Once you're up to it, you'll be expected to do your part. You'll also be expected to go to school and do your homework. But you'll have a bed of your own, and the boys are expected to be kind to one another. Fighting isn't tolerated, so if there's an issue, you bring it up with me instead of taking a swing. You hear me?"

Dean frowned but nodded his head, watching as Sonny made two bunny ears and wrapped one over and under the other.

"Comes out just as easy as a regular tie," he said, tugging it free again to demonstrate. "You wanna try?"

Dean was still frowning, but he nodded again, shaky hands making loops. He dropped one, grunted, and looped it again, losing the other one in the process. "I can't. I can't fucking do it. The nurse had to show me how to button my god damn jeans with a rubber band, 'cause I can't do that either!"

Footsteps made Dean's head jerk up, flushed red with embarrassment that someone had overheard that.

Sonny turned, glancing over his shoulder to find the dark-haired, blue-eyed boy who had moved to town a while back to move in with Chuck.

"Novak, right?" Sonny asked, and he nodded.

"Castiel." He glanced over at Dean.

Dean choked out, "Hey, Cas. What--what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to know where you are going to be placed until your family can be found."

"Home for delinquents," Dean snapped sourly, jerking on his shoe laces angrily. "Fuck."

Sonny and Castiel glanced at each other.

"I tried teaching him bunny ears, but he's trying to rush and getting frustrated," Sonny explained.

"Traitor," Dean muttered under his breath.

Castiel stepped closer, nodding for Sonny to move aside. "Allow me."

Sonny shifted out of the way, Castiel taking his place, and Dean frowned at him.

"It's not going to work, Cas."

"Just try again. Unless you want velcro shoes." Castiel grinned as Dean groaned.

"Hell no, man!: He huffed a sigh, reaching down and grabbing the laces. Castiel settled his hands lightly on Dean's wrists.

"Okay, make the loops," Castiel instructed, and Dean's hands began to shake slightly.

"I can't," Dean sighed.

"Yes, you can. Just stop thinking about it so hard," Castiel replied.

Dean grunted, making two large loops.

"Okay, now over and under with one of them."

Dean's hands began to shake more until one of the loops slithered out of his grasp again. 

"Try again." Castiel's voice was gentle, holding no pity but casual encouragement instead.

"I can't, Cas! Okay, I can't do it!" Dean was whining, he knew it, Castiel knew it, even Sonny knew it, but Dean couldn't bring himself to care.

"Yes, you can!" Castiel protested. "You're focusing too much and you're making it worse! Stop thinking so hard and just do it!"

Dean made a frustrated noise. "God damnit, Cas!"

He snatched up the laces again.

"I'm going to have to prove to you," Dean looped the laces, "that I just can't," he folded one over the other before pushing it back under, "do it!: Dean pulled the laces tight, staring down at the now-tied shoe. "How'd you--?"

"Sometimes following a head injury, patients can have intention tremors, notably while eating or other tasks that require fine motor skills." Castiel tilted his head at Dean.

"How'd you know that" Dean asked, pulling his other knee up to fumble with those laces. 

"My uncle. I want to become a doctor, too, and join his clinic in town."

Dean had already finishing tying his other bootlaces.

"You're thinking about it too much, which makes it worse. Hopefully it will pass soon, as your brain comes back, er, 'online'." Castiel crooked two fingers on each hand.

Dean snorted. "Air quotes, Cas?"

"You understood the reference, though."

Dean glanced back at Sonny, who was standing by the door with a slight smile on his face.

"I've heard good things about Sonny, if it helps," Castiel offered.

"Yeah, from who, cops?" Dean snorted.

"From kids who have stayed with him, Dean." Castiel sighed, glancing back at Sonny. "They all go to the high school."

Dean glanced over at Sonny again. "Why?"

Sonny seemed to understand the question. "Because, Dean. I was once like you."

Dean made a derisive noise. "What, brain-damaged?"

"You are not damaged, Dean. Not irreversibly. You are bruised, but you'll heal," Sonny said."I was a troubled kid like you. But I learned how important it is to have support. Stealing food? Not a crime you should be in jail for. Being hungry isn't a crime."

Dean fidgeted with the edges of the too-large leather jacket from his clothing bag. There was a lump in the liningof the pocket.

"You won't go hungry with me, Dean," Sonny assured gently.

When Dean's eyes flickered over to Castiel, Sonny added quickly, "and you won't be alone. There will be other boys there, and Castiel can even visit you. Or you can visit him. You just need to check in with me first and let me know where you are." 

A worried look crossed over Dean's face, and the dark-haired teen stepped closer, a hand on Dean's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"You've already wasted a lot of your time on me, man. I'll understand if...if you're, you know, completely done with my bullshit," Dean replied quietly. He reached up, wrapping his fingers around Castiel's thin wrist.

Castiel frowned, squeezing Dean's shoulder where his hand lay. "It wasn't a waste. It was an investment. I spent a significant amount of time wondering what kind of person you would be. Now I want to know if I was correct in my assumptions."

"What if you're wrong? And you hate me?" Dean's brows pinched together.

"I don't  think that's possible, Dean." 

Castiel looked over at Sonny. "I can go with you, if you'd like?"

Sonny nodded, and fortunately, so did Dean, the latter relaxing slightly, and Castiel smiled.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

They sat in the back seat of Sonny's truck on the way back, Dean clutching the bag of his few belongings and leaning against Castiel's side firmly.

"I'm going to register you for school tomorrow, Dean, but you'll need a last name. I mean, you're currently listed as Dean Doe, but it sounds kind of weird if you ask me. Definitely fake. Any opinions?" Sonny called back.

"Uh...Dean...Smith?" Smith felt vaguely right, but not totally correct. It would do for now until he could remember his own. "Does that sound fake?"

"Dean Smith," Castiel repeated, grinning. "No, it sounds great to me."

Sonny made a noise of agreement, and silence fell in the truck.

Dean shifted slightly after a while, frowning. "Cas?" The question was so quiet, Castiel almost missed it, even right next to him, and he started slightly.

"Yes, Dean?"

"Can I ask you something personal? You can say no."

Castiel turned his head to look at Dean, who was fidgeting with his hands in his lap.

"Of course, Dean. You can ask me anything."

"Why...why do you live with your uncle?"

Castiel looked away, peering out the window as the town passed.

"You don't have to answer, Cas."

"I don't want to hide who I am, Dean. Even if it means you don't want to be around me anymore." Castiel finally turned back to find Dean watching him. "I'm gay. My mother and father...some of my siblings, too...they are very conservative and religious, so...my uncle took me in." His eyes dropped, unwilling to see Dean' reaction. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Dean took his hand, threading their fingers together and squeezing.

"It's okay, Cas."

When Castiel peeked up again, Dean was still watching him.

"Thanks for telling me," he added, reaching up to tough the fading yellow smudge of a bruise on his temple. He winced, making a pained noise, and Castiel stiffened, sitting up and reaching for him. "Dean?"

"Something seems familiar. In a bad way. My...my head hurts."

Castiel reached for Dean, touching his hand where his fingers had unknowingly twisted into the short strands of his hair, pulling.

When Dean relaxed finally, just slightly, he sighed. "It--I lost it. I can't remember."

"Maybe it's just as well, Dean, if it was something bad."

Dean struggled to calm his breathing, looking around wide-eyed and wary when he realized Sonny had pulled over. A glance in the older man's direction proved that he was watching Dean in the rear view mirror.

"Do we need to get the doc?"

Dean looked down where his and Castiel's hands were joined together. He drew in a deep breath before releasing it slowly.

"No. I think..." He looked up at Castiel, smiling when the other boy met his eyes. He squeezed Castiel's hand lightly.

"...I think I'm gonna be okay."


	11. Fourteen Years Ago; Dean

As soon as they arrived on the farm's property, Sonny began pointing things out, the fields, the animals. He pulled up to the house as his first stop, quiet because the boys were all out working.

"You'll meet some of the boys soon. Benny, Cole, Victor, you might like them," Sonny said casually as he led the way inside, pointing out bathrooms, the kitchen.

Dean glanced over at Castiel questioningly, and Castiel shrugged. "Those three appear to be decently sociable with good manners. At least, they are never unkind to me."

Dean nodded, watching Castiel instead of where he was going, and as a result, he nearly ran into Sonny's back as the older man came to a halt outside of one of the bedrooms, occupied by several beds. "You'll be sharing a room with them, it's where I have a free bed at the moment, but as Castiel said, those three are relatively good boys. Like you, they're here for minor infractions."

"Like what?" Dean asked, and Castiel elbowed him. Dean hissed, glaring at him as he rubbed his side, only to find Castiel frowning at him. "What?"

Castiel sighed, exasperated. "Confidentiality with cases involving minors in usually considered a must. Your case is only spoken of because of the, ah," he sighed, motioning towards his own head.

"Brain damage?" Dean supplied critically.

"Head injury, Dean."

Dean frowned, turning away and fidgeting with his leather jacket again, probing at the hard object stuck in the liner.

"You can leave your things here while I show you around," Sonny offered, waving at one of the beds, neatly made, and Dean tossed his small bag of possessions onto it. "Jody and a few others are working on seeing what they can pull together for you--basic toiletries, some more changes of clothing, maybe a pair of sneakers. Anything else you can think of?"

Dean shrugged. "Never keep too many things. It's too much to carry when you have to leave, otherwise." He rubbed at his nose with the side of his hand, sniffing, and Castiel and Sonny exchanged a perplexed and worried look over his head.

"What do you mean, Dean?" Castiel asked carefully. Dean shrugged, and Castiel pressed again. "Did you move around a lot?"

Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. "I don't know, Cas, okay? I don't remember."

"But you remembered that from somewhere."

"Your guess is as good as mine."

Sonny glanced between the two boys before clapping his hands. "So! There's a bathroom down the end of the hall, you gotta be quick in there 'cause there's only three bathrooms here, only two with showers." He led the way back downstairs, pausing in the kitchen. "This is where we all eat; usually the boys help cook--chopping fruits and vegetables, preparing cuts of meat, things like that. You any good at cooking?"

Dean shrugged again.

Sonny tried again. "Uh, any foods you like, or don't like?"

Dean shrugged again.

"What do you remember? Let's start there," Sonny finally asked, calm despite Dean's obstructiveness, accustomed to boys who wouldn't say a word or only glare sullenly at first.

"Um, basic shi--uh, stuff. Like, I know I know how to do stuff like brushing my teeth, how to dress myself. I know I can tell you George Washington was the first president of the United States. I know twelve times twelve is one hundred forty four and it's also called a gross. I know that table salt is NaCl. But I don't remember personal stuff. I barely remember my first name--or what I think is my first name. I don't remember my own face, I don't remember what foods I like, or what clothes I prefer. I don't know my birthday or how old I am. None of that stuff. They never should have dumped a kid like me on a guy like you, Sonny. There's too much to sort out," Dean replied thickly, glancing away, readying himself for... for what? For...rejection. This feeling, that was familiar, the impending sense of people he should have been able to depend on about to betray him, about to tell him to get himself together on his own.

"Dean, that's okay. We'll figure it out along the way," Sonny assured gently, settling a hand on Dean's shoulder, and Dean jumped with a sharp intake of breath, startled. Sonny immediately pulled back, and Dean found, to his surprise, he missed the contact already--because it didn't hurt. Sonny hadn't hurt him. But how long could he trust that to last? He glanced up at Sonny, eyeing him warily until he felt a warm hand slip into his own and squeeze, and Dean looked down to find Castiel holding firmly to him.

"How about your favorite color? At least that way they can pick clothes that are good colors," Castiel said, smiling encouragingly.

"Blue," was the automatic response as Dean found himself staring at Castiel's intriguing blue eyes. "Uh, green, too. I know I like these pants, jeans. And...I don't think I like sneakers as much as boots. He peered down at his clothes for a few moments, using his free hand to pick at the plaid flannel under his leather jacket. "And I'm pretty sure I like this, too."

Castiel quirked a half smile. "You look like you would fit in at an Army Surplus store."

Sonny snapped his fingers at that, and Dean tensed, waiting. "That's actually a good idea. Army Surplus would be inexpensive, too. I'll see if Jody can take you by one sometime soon."

Oh. Was that it? "That...that sounds like a good plan," Dean agreed tentatively, and Sonny waved for Dean and Castiel to follow him out onto the spacious porch where a wooden swing hung and a few rocking chairs sat, waiting to be filled.

"Okay, for the lay of the land, there's the main drive," Sonny said, pointing out in front of the house. "That side road is an access road to the barn where the cows and horses are," he pointed left, "there's another one that way to the fields, we're doing corn and wheat out there right now," he pointed right, "and there's a path 'round the house to the chicken coops and the gardens in the back, where we're growing things like tomatoes, yellow and green squash, cucumbers, lettuce."

Dean wrinkled his nose but stayed silent, nodding and watching as a young man strode toward the house, sweat soaked through the armpits, chest, and back of his thin t-shirt and a driver's cap pulled down snug over ruddy locks of hair. He waved to Sonny, grinning, and Sonny waved for him to join their little group on the porch. 

"Benny! Come on over, meet the new guy!" Sonny called, and Benny jogged the rest of the way, grinning as he leaped up the steps, a hand extended. Castiel crowded slightly closer to Dean.

"Benjamin Lafitte, you can call me Benny, the foreman. So you're the new guy, huh? Our new room mate?"

Dean reached out and took his hand, Benny giving a good, firm handshake. "Uh, yeah, looks that way. Name's Dean. Dean Smith." He glanced over at Sonny, who gave him a smile of approval paired with a nod to help galvanize his bravery. Dean couldn't help but notice the out of place accent. "You're from New Orleans."

"Yeah, the accent I bet. Can't miss it. Folks moved up here a while back, and then I got myself in a heap of trouble getting into fights. What about you? That accent of yours is out of place for Nowheresville, New York, too," Benny said amiably, but Dean shot nervous looks at Castiel and Sonny until Benny seemed to realize he'd made a mistake. "Oh, right, you're the, uh," he finally filled in, tapping at his head. "Glad to see you up and about, brother. You must be feeling better."

"Yeah. Conscious is definitely preferable to, y'know..." Dean replied awkwardly.

"Out cold?" Benny offered. "'cause you kind look like you went ten rounds."

Castiel frowned at first, but Dean only laughed. 

"Probably, man."

Benny nodded over his shoulder. "C'mon, I'll show you around the grounds."

Sonny nodded. "You guys go on ahead."

"Great," Benny said, and Dean made his way down the porch stairs, pausing when Castiel didn't follow.

"You coming?" Dean asked, and Castiel glanced at Benny, who only grinned at him toothily.

"Let's get going, Castiel. We're burning daylight!" Benny said.

Finally Castiel followed down behind them, looking between Dean and Benny. "Dean, if you get tired, please let me know. You've been in the hospital for nearly a month, so while you're feeling better, you're still not going to be 100% yet."

"I'll be fine! You worry too much, Cas," Dean replied, grinning.

An hour later, Dean collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Dean seems pretty jumpy around Sonny, but he has his reasons.


	12. Fourteen Years Ago; Dean

Dean blinked awake, scrunching up his nose against the sunlight in his eyes and raising a hand to brush away whatever was tickling his arm.

Grass. He was lying in the grass, although he couldn't remember how he'd made it there.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Something blocked the sunlight, and it slowly crept into Dean's awareness it was Castiel leaning over him. "He's awake," Castiel called over his shoulder before tipping forward again to brush something from Dean's forehead. Benny and Sonny crowded into view, hovering in concern.

"You feelin' alright there, brother?" Benny drawled as Dean tried to sit up. The world decided to tilt sideways instead, and he groaned as he slumped over against warmth--Castiel, supporting him.

"What the fuck."

"You're supposed to be taking it easy, Dean. Resting. You've been in the hospital for weeks, remember?" Castiel chastised quietly.

"Yeah, I rested then, Cas. 'm fine," Dean protested, but when he climbed to his feet, he swayed dangerously and Benny moved to support him from one side while Castiel manned the other. With a growl, Dean weakly tried to push them away. "Don't need to baby me."

"It's not babying, Dean," Castiel replied, exasperated. "Are you always this stubborn?"

Dean went lax at the question, any sense of normalcy gone as he was sharply reminded of the situation. "Cas, I don't...you know I don't know the answer to that."

Castiel's teasing expression fell away in an instant. "Dean, I apologize, I forgot--"

Dean cut him off with a sharp, displeased laugh, pushing away from both him and Benny.  "Believe me, I'm the expert on that."

Castiel only managed a wounded look, and guilt rushed over Dean.

"Ah, jeez, Cas. Don't look at me like that."

"I can't begin to imagine what you're going through, Dean, and here I am being rude--"

"I was being a jerk--"

"--you're stressed out, Dean, and probably confused--"

"--Cas--"

"--and probably a little scared--"

"--CAS!"

Castiel's mouth snapped shut and he blink at Dean owlishly.

"You're right, I'm--I'm all those things, man." Dean winced, some part of his mind protesting violently that he shouldn't be admitting any weakness. "But you still get to call me on my bullshit." Dean hesitantly cleared his throat. "Friends don't let friends drive stupid."

"I thought that was drunk," Benny snorted, swooping in to herd Dean back toward the house.

"I'm not drunk," Dean replied, grinning as he wobbled from side to side, belying his claim.

"Or driving," Sonny muttered, "at least not anytime soon."

"I passed out, Sonny, big deal," Dean groaned. "It wasn't like it was another seizure."

Benny and Sonny's eyes met, wide and more than a little put-off as Benny mouthed, "Another?" at Sonny. 

Sonny shrugged, even as Dean's brain caught up with his words, his feet skidding to a halt and Benny running into him.

"Hey, no blocking the road, Chief."

Dean ignored the complaint, twisting his head toward Castiel, mouth tight with worry. "It, uh, it wasn't a seizure, though, was it?"

Castiel shook his head, taking Dean's arm to propel him forward again. He was quiet, though, and Dean touched his free hand. 

"Hey, what's up?"

"Are we?" Castiel blurted out before his cheeks flushed crimson.

"Are we what?" Dean's puzzlement was clear.

"Friends. I mean, are you sure you want to be friends with a guy like me? I know I am being overbearing and I know you said you accept me, but--"

"Cas, chill. We're friends. Or you can be my nagging girlfriend." Dean grinned, squeezing Castiel's hand.

Castiel's cheeks stained ever redder, slightly indignant. "I most certainly am not a nagging girlfriend."

"That'd require more boobs," Benny cackled, and Dean smirked back at the Cajun.

"I think you and I are gonna get along just fine, Benny." He turned back to Castiel an instant later, nudging his arm. "Fine, you can be my nagging boyfriend instead."

Benny laughed and Sonny smiled and shook his head.

"Working awfully fast there, Smith," Sonny chuckled, but Castiel was just as quiet as before, if not more so, and he began to pull away from Dean.

"Cas?"

"You told me to call you on your 'bullshit', Dean," Castiel said, raising his hands in air quotes, "So I would appreciate it if you wouldn't make fun of me."

"I'm hurt that you don't believe me."

Castiel huffed. "No one dates nerdy gay geeks."

"I'm brain-damaged, not blind, Cas. You're a good-looking guy." Dean grinned at him, and Castiel eyed him, frowning.

"Are you gay?"

"Nope," Dean said, popping the "p". "I don't like to put a label on it, I just know what I like, that's all."

Castiel continued to stare at him for a moment before turning away. "It is simply because I have spent a significant amount of time caring for you. Once you meet more people, more girls, you'll change your mind," Castiel finally settled on saying quietly, walking away, but Dean followed after him.

"You know from experience?" Dean asked softly, and Castiel's back stiffened.

"Dean--"

"What if I'm different? What if I don't change my mind? What if I still want you? What then?"

What then indeed?

"Can I at least have the chance to try to convince you?" Dean asked, a slight pleading note to his voice.

"Let's start with being friends, Dean," Castiel replied, turning back to face Dean with a gentle smile on his face.

"Do I get to woo you in the meantime?"

Finally Castiel's smile widened into something more genuine. "You can try, but I think you have your work cut out for you. I'm hard to win over."

"I like my odds," Dean chuckled, and Castiel shook his head.

"You have zero chance if you do not go rest right now."

Dean winked before lifting Castiel's hand to his mouth and kissing the back of it. "As you wish, Princess Buttercup."

Benny burst out laughing as Castiel's confused head tilt.

"You barely remember your own name, yet you can quote classic movies?" Sonny asked, barely restraining an amused grin.

"Guess I prioritized!" Dean laughed.

"Go!" Castiel sighed, pushing Dean toward the house, and Benny followed him in to make sure he got settled, leaving Castiel and Sonny standing on the porch.

"He likes you."

"That much is obvious," Castiel replied, his smile scaling back to a more subdued one. "But he'll get his memories back soon enough, and I'll only be someone worth forgetting, Mr. Portillo."

"It's just Sonny, kiddo, and something tells me he's going to change our lives."

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Dean dozed for an hour before uneasiness woke him, itching under his skin as he peered around cautiously. He reached for his bag of things that Jody had dropped off, and a bit of rummaging produced a pocket knife, and he knelt by the bed frame. Lifting the blankets, he scratched into the wood before canting back on his heels to admire his handiwork, a pentacle, a few sigils, etched there. He had no idea what they were, but seeing them there helped with his unease, and another thought struck him.

Silver. Salt. Necklace.

The jacket. It was downstairs, and Dean crept silently down to retrieve it and a container of table salt, running lines of it along the windows and the doorway. He laid the jacket out, running his hands over the liner until he found the lump and traced along the edges until he found a small slit, inserting his fingers and withdrawing a black cord on which hung a silver ring and the ugliest bronze pendant Dean had ever seen in his life of a horned man's head. And yet--Dean slipped it over his head, tucking it under his shirt before curling back up under his covers again.

He dreamed of floppy hair, sad hazel eyes, and a drunken man throwing a fist over and over again.

 


	13. Fourteen Years Ago; Dean

"I'm not sure how I feel about you defacing the furniture and seasoning my house."

Dean snapped awake, glancing around the unfamiliar room and slipping his hand under his pillow. Panic rose in his gut when his fingers met nothing, although, what was supposed to be there?

"Dean?" The voice was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't be sure. Not with...with...

Dean lay very still, waiting until a hand landed on his shoulder, and he twisted, throwing his blankets into the face of the stranger and grabbing the hand with his other hand. He threw the guy onto the bed, slamming him down and pinning him, one arm twisted behind his back as Dean perched on top on him, heart pounding as he struggled for the necklace under his shirt.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Benny shouted, charging into the room and grabbing for Dean, Dean lashing out with his other arm. He started, pain lancing up his arm as he struck flesh.

"Hey, we can take a hint, Dean, no touching, just take a deep breath and calm down," the guy rumbled from below him, and Dean blinked down at him, confused.

"Sonny?" he croaked out, and he sagged, loosening his grip. Sonny made no move to pull free; he just waited until Dean stiffened again and scrambled off, eyes wild and panicked as he searched for an escape route.

Benny, however, was blocking the doorway, and Dean instead backed into a corner, panting and eyeing them warily from a defensive stance as Sonny rose and straightened his clothes. As Benny took a step toward him, Dean backed up again, bumping into the wall behind him, and his breath hitched as the fight left him. He sagged against it, sliding down to the floor. Benny took another step toward him. 

"Hey, Chief," Benny started, and Dean flung his arms up to protect his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Don't! I'm sorry, okay, I'm sorry, please don't hurt me anymore!" Dean didn't mean to whimper, really he didn't.

"Hey, hey, no one is going to hurt you, Dean," Sonny said gently. "It's definitely not the first time a kid's taken a swing at me." The door clicked shut softly. "Do you want one of us to leave?" Sonny asked, and Dean hazarded a peek up to find Benny and Sonny had settled on the floor a safe distance away. He slowly lowered his arms, shifting his gaze to his hands in his lap, shivering faintly as he picked at the edge of the cast.

"You wanna tell us what happened just now?" Sonny tried again, and Dean shrugged. "Do you want me to see if I can get Castiel on the phone?"

"No." The room fell quiet for several long minutes until Dean spoke again. "Nightmare."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I...I had a nightmare. Guy kept hitting me and then...grabbed my arm, twisted it 'til it snapped."

Benny and Sonny's eyes dropped to Dean's left arm.

"Did you see a face?" Sonny asked carefully, measured, frowning when Dean shook his head.

"Do you have nightmares often? At least since...?" Sonny trailed off, glancing at Benny.

"Since I woke up from my coma, you mean? Yeah, I get..." Dean waved, aimlessly, "...almost like flashes of what happened. No faces, no distinct words, just yelling....I pissed some guy off and he waled on me." Dean winced as he flexed his broken wrist and then shoved fingers of his good hand through his tangled bedhead.

Sonny reached out and Dean instinctively flinched, even though Sonny merely flipped up the bedding to reveal the carving on the bed frame. "Is that the reason behind turning my furniture into an Etch-a-Satanic-Sketch and leaving salt everywhere?"

Dean flushed, embarrassed, working his fingers down over the lump of the ring and god-head amulet under his shirt. "It...it made me feel safe."

Sonny relaxed, face softening. "Dean, you are safe here. I promise."

Benny nodded. "I can tell ya, brother. You got good digs here, alright?"

Dean winced but nodded, dropping his hand to knead his fingers in around the cast. It was sore from the blow to Benny's chest, although he seemed no worse for wear from it.

"Need some pain meds?" Sonny asked, watching as Dean tried to massage under the plaster, and Dean hung his head, ashamed as he nodded.

"Why don't we get you fixed up with some ibuprofen and a little breakfast, then see if we can't jerry-rig you for a shower."

Dean tipped his head. "Shower first maybe?"

Sonny was watching him, he could feel it in his skin, but the pain in his arm wasn't unbearable. He just felt too gross after too many nights of just lousy sponge baths. "Alright," he finally agreed, "and then if you're up to it, you can accompany me to the high school while I sign you up for classes. Might be nice to get a little input from you." Sonny bumped Benny's arm. "Speaking of which, you'd better get going, the bus'll be here soon."

"Yes, sir." Benny climbed to his feet and crossed the room, reaching a hand down to help Dean to his feet with a very pointy grin.

Tentative at first, Dean finally reached up to him, gripping his hand and letting Benny pull him up. Then he watched as Benny grabbed his bag and ran, the sounds of a bus outside.

After awkwardly bagging his casted arm, Dean scrubbed himself pink with donated soap and shampoo and donned equally donated clothes before slipping the amulet back over his head and shrugging on the leather jacket. It was quickly followed by socks and his worn boots.

He wasted little time finding his way downstairs, but still he crept his way there, surprised when he turned the corner to find Sonny cooking up bacon, eggs, and waffles.

"Now, don't get used to this on school days," Sonny laughed at the look on his face. "It's usually breakfast cereal after the cows are milked and the eggs are collected. I usually save this for Sundays, but you seem like you could use a real meal--you slept through dinner, after all."

"Uh, yeah, thanks," Dean replied dumbly, and he sat carefully, eating only sparingly at first. But then Sonny leaned over and dropped more food on his plate.

"You're a teenage boy, Dean, you can't fool me. Eat up."

 

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Dean was quiet on the ride to the local high school in Hurleyville, staring out the window as the town went by and docilely following in behind Sonny to the front office.

The secretary, an older woman, looked up as they came in, brightening visibly. "Sonny, dear! Bringing us another one, are you?" She looked Dean over with a friendly smile.

"Sure am. This here's Dean Smith. A young many I spoke with mentioned Dean has taken his aptitude tests, but the results are likely under 'Doe' instead," Sonny said, smiling back.

Marjory, as her nameplate stated, began flipping through the files on her desk until she pulled one out, looking over the results. "I think this is it, here. Smith means his counselor will be Ava Wilson, I'll update this, then we can see if she's available to talk about a schedule."

Sonny nodded, but Dean gazed out through the window, distracted as the bell rang by the sudden sea of students. He didn't see Benny, but in the crowd, he did spot Castiel, and Dean bit his lip as he watched him, surrounded by a redhead, a blond girl, and a guy with an honest-to-goodness mullet, of all things.

The last thing Dean expected was to be noticed.

Castiel met his eyes, smiled, and Dean weakly smiled back. He glanced back at Sonny but started when he realized the door to the office was swinging open and Castiel was stepping inside, followed by his friends.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean's heart thumped in his chest; he honestly would never tire of the rich timbre of Castiel's voice saying his name. "Hey, Cas...you sure you got time for me?" Dean bit his lower lip, smiling coyly.

"Of course, why wouldn't I?" Castiel countered, raising a brow. "This is Ash Harvelle, his sister, Jo, and her girlfriend and my best friend, Charlie Bradbury. Ash and Jo's mother is Ellen. Guys, this is Dean."

The redhead, Charlie, grinned up at him. "So you're the guy stealing Cas away from us, huh?"

Dean's eyes flicked down to her "Han Shot First" shirt as he ducked his head apologetically.

"And our mom," Jo added with a smile of her own.

"Sorry, couldn't help it," Dean replied, his features twisted in a grimace, and Ash just laughed.

"Nah, man. We're just glad to see you up and about," the guy tried to assure Dean.

"So, what put you in the hospital to begin with?" Charlie asked, and Dean glanced at Castiel.

"A fight," Dean said shortly.

Charlie nodded, as if in sympathetic understanding. "Well, where are you from?"

Dean shrugged. "Around."

"Favorite food, favorite song, favorite movie?" Charlie tried again.

"I don't know, I like a lot of things." Dean was confused. Why in the world was she asking these things?

Dean's eyes flicked back to Castiel as comprehension dawned slowly. Castiel hadn't told them.

Well, then. That was his business.

"Look, if you've got a problem--" Charlie started to say, and Dean held up his left arm.

"No offense, but nothing good comes out of a life where this sort of shit happens. I'd like to put it behind me, if you don't mind," Dean replied, frowning at Charlie as she stared long and hard at the white plaster.

Finally, her shoulders sagged some. "Yeah, I guess I can see that. Point made. Sorry."

Sonny stepped up, interrupting. "Go to class, you three. I'll have Castiel show Dean to the guidance office."

The other three waved and shuffled off with vague goodbyes until they turned out into the hall and left Castiel, Dean, and Sonny behind.

"You'll be placed in eleventh grade, go see Ms. Wilson." Sonny dropped the paperwork into Dean's hands.

Castiel nodded, tugging Dean close. "This way."

Dean tripped over his feet in the fight to keep up. "You don't have to, you know."

"What?"

"Be friendly with me here. I know what we said, but I know you have friends already and I really did take you away from them, so you don't have to pretend or anything."

"Are you saying you don't want to be my friend after all?" Castiel's face crumpled, hurt. 

"What?" Dean's eyes widened. "No, of course I do, Cas, I just--" He cut off when he spied the smirk quirking up one corner of Castiel's mouth. "You've got to be kidding me. That was a joke?"

The smirk widened. "You did seem rather intent on having the opportunity to woo me. Besides, one of the fastest ways to ingratiate yourself is to become friends with my friends."

Dean quirked a small half-smile. "I suppose so."

 


	14. Fourteen Years Ago; Dean

When Dean started school the following Monday, he was surprised when he stepped into his computer class to spot a familiar head of red hair. He tried to be casual as he claimed the seat next to her, and she lifted her head from the Gameboy she was fiddling with to stare at him.

He smiled awkwardly with a little wave. "Uh, hi. Charlie, right?"

"It can be taught," she replied tersely, and Dean frowned, his brows knitting together.

"Look, I'm sorry, alright? It's been a rough...it's been rough. I mean, it's better here, but I still..." Dean rubbed at the back of his head as he rambled, and Charlie's eyes flicked down to the cast on his left arm.

"Still having trouble adjusting?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, that. I swear to God, I'm not usually an asshole, but things were kind of shit before I got here, and then they stayed pretty shitty for a while, except for Cas and all."

Charlie tilted her head, staring at him piercingly, and Dean held her gaze although it was a struggle. "Castiel told me about you hitting on him. Gotta say you work fast. That the only reason you're playing nice?"

Dean's face flushed in embarrassment. "No!" he protested. "I....don't actually have any friends, 'cept for Cas. You guys seem like as good a place as any to start." His eyes flicked down to her t-shirt emblazoned with a twenty-sided die. "And you like nerdy stuff."

"Do you?"

"I don't actually know," Dean confessed. "I think so?"

Charlie's brows shot up at this. "Star Wars?"

Okay, this was good, this was a safe topic Dean could handle, and a beaming smile split his face. "Hell yes, Han Solo kicks ass, and that Leia chick, she's not bad, either!"

Charlie quirked a smile. "How about Doctor Who?"

Dean's brain stumbled to a stop. Couldn't even pull up a mental picture.

Dean sighed heavily, pushing his fingers through his hair as Charlie watched him closely. "Look, this is going to sound weird, but I'm still...kinda recovering. My brain does better with recalling quotes apparently than it does actual movies and shows. I only remember Star Wars because Sonny let me watch it. I mean, I sorta remembered it after that, but...yeah."

To Charlie's newfound credit, she didn't say anything even closely resembling pity. "Well, I guess we'll just have to reeducate you, then!" 

Dean smiled. "I'd like that."

"In the meantime," Charlie said with a wide grin, "lemme sign your cast."

 

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By lunchtime, several other signatures had joined Charlie's, Castiel's, and Benny's, and the redhead was quick to snag him the moment he walked out of the lunch line, plopping him right down next to Castiel. Jo looked up, wary, and Ash just gave Dean a relaxed wave.

Dean tried to paste on a smile for their sake, but it wasn't even halfway through the day and he was ready to call it quits: classes with vague introductions of him as the new student, people prying for information he didn't have and didn't want to share if he did, and way more work than he ever remembered high school being--not that he remembered. "Hello, uh, Jo, Ash?" He glanced at Castiel, and when the other boy made eye contact, Dean's face split into a warm grin for him.

"How's your first day going?" Ash asked, and Dean barely refrained from wincing.

"Um, tiring? Everyone's been going easy on me up till now. I still don't have good stamina." He chuckled weakly, and Ash nodded in understanding.

"I hear weeks in the hospital will do that to you," he said. His eyes dropped to the cast. "Hey, can Jo and I sign, too?"

Dean shrugged and nodded, and Charlie passed Ash a marker while Dean splayed his arm across the table. Under the table, he felt a warm hand slip into his and squeeze, and when he looked up, he found Castiel smiling at him. 

"Other than tiring, how is your first day going?"

Dean shrugged, mumbling under his breath about nosy people. "I don't really know what to tell people."

"Act like a mysterious stranger," Jo said, smirking. "That'll get the ladies interested."

Both Dean and Castiel frowned, until Jo managed to look a little less snide when Ash elbowed her and jerked his head toward Castiel. "Sorry, forgot about your campaign to conquer Castiel."

"Hey, it's not--" Dean started.

"She's just jerking you around, dude" Ash shot his sister a pointed glare.

"Look, I'm sorry about being a jerk the other day. It was after my first night in a new place and--" Dean started to apologize, cutting himself off and staring down at his limp hamburger.

Jo finally had the decency to look guilty. "Sorry. Mom said...she said you were in really rough shape. Sheriff Jody was pretty broken up about it. Felt like it was her fault she didn't notice sooner."

Dean shrugged, picking up his hamburger and biting the edge off. "She noticed before the asshole who picked me up."

Jo frowned at him. "What'd you get picked up for anyway?"

This time, Charlie elbowed her, and hard, hissing her name.

Dean took another bite. Even Castiel had the good sense to not ask that. For whatever reason, he found it especially shameful.

"That's right, you're one of Sonny's rescues, aren't you?" a voice said from behind him. 

"Piss off, Gordon," Jo snapped. "No one is talking to your ugly face."

Dean barely glanced up at the small group of boys standing behind them.

"Can't stand that they let scum like you in here. So what did you do to get yourself arrested anyway?" 

"Killed a guy with my bare hands for asking stupid questions," Dean quipped and Jo snorted. 

"Never mind, I think I like you after all." 

Dean held back on the snarky comment threatening to slip out and instead stuffed more of the burger into his mouth.

He nearly choked when a hand grabbed his collar and jerked him backwards.

"Hey!" Charlie shouted, rounding the table, "Back off, Gordon, he's got a broken wrist!"

Gordon didn't seem even remotely concerned; in fact he seemed to enjoy Dean's predicament, even going as far as to twist Dean's arm in his grasp. Dean cried out, pain shooting up to his shoulder. 

"Let him go!" Dean heard Castiel shout, but Dean's vision blurred and narrowed down, instincts kicking in as he swung his other arm over and on top of Gordon's, immediately snapping his elbow back into Gordon's throat. An instant later, Benny was at his side as Dean cradled his arm against his chest. Crowding in closer were two other boys Dean recognized as Cole and Victor. Introductions had been brief and Dean had slept a lot the last few days.

Administration rushed them, and Dean moaned in pain when one grabbed his arm.

"Let go," Benny growled. At a teacher, too!

"What happened?" the teacher asked, tightening his grip, even as Dean whimpered and tried to pull away.

"Gordon grabbed his broken arm and twisted it. You're hurting him," Victor supplied.

"He hit me!" Gordon whined, and Cole snarled.

"He dislodged you, asshole!"

"Language like that is unacceptable, Mr. Trenton."

"Your face is unacceptable," Dean muttered, and Castiel jolted him.

"Try not to get into trouble your first day, Dean."

"Dean is from Sonny's," Benny explained, glaring at Gordon, "and Gordon was trying to start shi--stuff."

The teacher glanced at Castiel and his friends, and they nodded, so he released Dean's arm.

"Gordon, what have I told you about antagonizing the boys from Sonny's? Let's go, office." He spared Dean another look. "Do you need to go to the nurse?"

Dean shook his head, wincing. "I don't have any painkillers down there. Won't do me any good." 

"You can call Mr. Portillo and see if he'll bring you some."

Dean nodded at that. "Fine."

The teacher wrote him a pass, but when Dean turned to pick up his backpack and lunch, Castiel was already holding both. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Dean sat at a small desk in the nurse's office, Castiel sitting beside him and peeling an orange for him. Dean sighed.

"Well, this is not how I expected my day to go."

"I'm sorry. Jake, Gordon, Ezekiel, Nick, and Alistair are always jerks, but they're always especially bad with boys from Sonny's," Castiel sighed.

"Why?" Dean asked around a mouthful of burger.

"Who knows? To prove they're 'badder', to get a reaction? Your guess is as good as mine."

Dean snorted at Castiel's use of air quotes, but he sobered quickly. "I feel really overwhelmed. The bad kind, like I'm behind in school with no friends and assholes bullying me and knowing I can't pull my weight at the farm yet."

"You have friends, we helped defend you, and Sonny understands. And if you're having difficulty with your schoolwork, we can help with that, too," Castiel assured him.

"Would you come over after school today? Or we could go to your place, if Sonny says it's okay," Dean asked, suddenly feeling surprisingly shy.

But Castiel smiled. "We can go to the farm, Dean. It might be less annoying without my brother Gabriel there, and he can just pick me up later."

At that moment, Sonny strode in with a bottle of ibuprofen in hand.

"Hey, son, heard you're having a lousy morning," he greeted Dean.

"Something like that. Can Cas come help with me with homework after school?"

Sonny scratched at his chin and handed over the medicine. "Don't see why not. Will you need a ride home, Castiel?"

Castiel shrugged. "I was going to ask Gabriel, my brother."

"I can drop you off."

Castiel opened his mouth to protest, but Sonny cut him off. "I wanted to drop some produce off for the doc anyway. It's no big deal."

Castiel finally nodded. "Thank you."

After Dean popped a couple of pills, Castiel offered to walk him back to class, and they waved goodbye to Sonny.

"Cas?" Dean watched his backpack swing on Castiel's shoulder.

"Yes Dean?"

Before Dean could catch up with his brain, he blurted out, "Food."

Castiel shot him a quizzical look. "You just ate."

"I mean I got arrested for...for stealing food. I was lost and in pain and scared and I just...I had no money and I was so hungry."

Castiel frowned, and Dean shrank away. "While stealing is a crime, it still seems horribly unfair for people to go hungry. I know it means little, but I'm sorry you had to go through that and I hope you never do again. If you need anything at all, please don't be afraid to ask."

Dean was silent for long moments, until they pulled to a halt in front of Dean's classroom. Dean turned to face the dark-haired boy.

"I just need one thing, Cas. I need you. Even if it's just as friends, I need you."


	15. Fourteen Years Ago; Dean & Castiel

Castiel turned his head, watching as Dean slid a plate of freshly cooled mini apple pies onto the table, made mostly from ingredients grown right on the farm. The past few weeks, Castiel had spent many afternoons over at Sonny's, helping out with more than just tutoring Dean. Who, in return, had taken to making snacks for everyone while he was slowly working his way up to being able to work with the rest of the boys on the land (no, Dean, gathering eggs is not a good fit right now). Sonny had discovered quite by accident that Dean had a knack in the kitchen. And while Sonny sheepishly referred to it as "exploiting" Dean, Dean considered it his way of contributing to the farm.

"Cas?"

Castiel shook himself, glancing up when he realized Dean was staring at him questioningly. "Hm?"

"I asked if you could help me with chemistry when you finish with Cole's math. I'm still screwing up the alcohols."

Victor snorted under his breath. "Don't let Sonny hear you."

"Don't let me hear what?" Sonny asked as he strode into the kitchen, face red and streaked with sweat from working outdoors. He smeared a hand across his forehead while snatching up one of the pies before Dean could admonish him to use a plate.

"Dean is screwing with alcohol," Cole replied with a grin, and Dean scowled. 

"I asked for help with my chemistry homework, not commentary from the peanut gallery."

"You'll make a great housewife one day," Benny teased. "You're a fantastic cook and baker, and you've certainly got PMS down pat. Should we be buying you a box of tampons, Chief?"

"Bite me," Dean snapped before handing Sonny a napkin with a no nonsense glare. Sonny bit back a grin at Dean's expense. "You don't usually take a break now, Sonny. Everything okay?"

Sonny shrugged. "The tractor broke down. I'll have to call Bobby Singer."

Dean frowned, wiping his hand over his mouth. "I could take a look at it."

"Dean, a tractor isn't going to be some simple fix," Sonny said, and Castiel looked up, mouth hanging open as he cut off mid-sentence while instructing Cole on the finer points of calculus.

"What about your chemistry homework?"

"Finish up with Cole, I'm going to take a quick look under the hood," Dean nodded toward the door, and Benny just shook his head.

"Dean's a stubborn one, Sonny. Can't talk him out of anything."

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Dean's back was aching from where he'd bent over the engine block of the tractor for the last half-hour, poking parts out of the way as he tightened screws. Sonny didn't have the parts on hand, so Dean scribbled down what was needed on a piece of card stock. Just as he was finishing the list he heard a car pull up behind him.

"Hey, you know where I can find Cassie?" a voice asked as the car shifted into park and shut off, and Dean straightened, wiping his forehead off with his tee shirt as he stared back at a guy with long hair and golden eyes.

"Uh, there ain't no chicks around here. 'specially none named Cassie."

The guy smiled back, as if Dean had said something cute, making Dean frown as the guy climbed out of his car--surprisingly, the guy was pretty short. "You must be Dean."

Dean's brows shot up his forehead. "Uh, yeah, and you are?"

"Gabriel," he said, sticking his hand out.

"Ga--" Dean stared down at the offered hand before his eyes snapped back up to the face. "Gabriel? Cas' brother?"

"That's the one. Where is he, handsome?"

Dean scrunched up his nose in disgust. "Inside, but he's still tutoring."

"And you haven't done your homework yet, either." Dean glanced up as Sonny strode out to meet them. "Hello Gabriel."

Gabriel nodded in greeting and Sonny jerked a thumb back toward the house. "Why don't you go in, stay for dinner? Dean made enough chili and cornbread to feed an army."

Gabriel's eyes landed back on Dean, brows high in surprise, but Dean just waved him off, watching as Gabriel shrugged and headed into the house.

"So, any ideas?"

Dean's eyes flicked back to Sonny. "Spark plugs are bad, the coil, too. Also the oil's low and filthy."

It was Sonny's turn to stare at Dean in surprise. "How'd you know?"

"Well, I always check a dipstick when I'm under a hood, and the rough idling and low power is from the spark plug not igniting the fuel--"

"No, I mean where'd you learn that?"

"I--" Dean cut off, his mouth hanging open wordlessly. "I dunno..." Sonny frowned, but Dean frowned back. "I remember how to do things, facts, quotes, impersonal shit, but I still don't remember anything about myself, Sonny." A gust of air rushed from Dean's lungs as he looked around. "I don't think I ever will. But I don't mind as much as I should, I think."

Sonny's expression twisted in confusion "Why? What about your family?"

Dean fidgeted with the dirty rag in his hands. "I just feel like there isn't much to miss. I mean...maybe one person, and I do feel guilty about that, but I...the nightmares--" 

Dean's voice dropped out, and Sonny waited, patient as ever.

"The nightmares make me think that's what I'd have waiting for me if I ever went back. I feel safer here. Like maybe I could have a place here. A purpose."

Sonny hummed thoughtfully, scratching his chin. "I really don't think the farm is the place for you, Dean."

Dean's mouth fell open, a squeak of protest escaping as his eyes rounded in fear. "Sonny, please--"

"I'm not making you leave, calm down. You give plenty by cooking, but I think your skills might be better suited to a garage."

Dean's confusion was evident, but Sonny plowed ahead. "I had good news, anyway. Jody said the store owner dropped the charges, so you're clear. I wanted to take you to dinner at the Roadhouse tomorrow to celebrate, and Bobby'll be there so you can meet him then. He really could use a hand, and if you have the chops, I think it'd be a good place for you. What do you say?"

Dean frowned. "I dunno, Sonny. I still drop stuff. My hands still shake."

"You're doing better."

"I dropped the jar of chili powder in the pot!" Dean shot back.

"Ah, but just the chili powder. Not the cumin or the salt or--"

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Dean swatted at Sonny to silence the laughing man. "If you shut up, I'll meet him!"

Sonny stifled his chuckling, nodding towards the house. "Let's go eat, the grub smells amazing."

 

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The moment that Dean stepped outside, Benny pounced on Castiel.

"Why haven't you said yes yet, brother?"

Castiel's eyes shot up from Cole's worksheet briefly and back down again. "To what?" he replied innocently.

Cole saw right through it, jostling him. "To Dean, you doofus."

Castiel sighed, frowning. "Because I'm good with being friends and letting him explore his options."

"What options? Anna Milton walked up to him and asked him to his face to hook up this weekend," Victor said, and Castiel tilted his head in confusion.

"Hook up?"

"Have casual sex. Dude turned her down flat. Who even does that unless they're serious?" Cole cackled.

"Or gay?" Victor offered.

"Nah, he seems more like kind of guy who thinks everyone's hot," Benny supplied. "I believe his words were he knows what he likes."

"But sex! He shouldn't have turned that down!" Victor sighed.

Benny snorted. "Fall in love at first sight and see if you feel the same way then."

"I highly doubt it's love or at first sight, Benny," Castiel countered, and Benny shook his head.

"You're really missing out, then, brother."

As Castiel opened his mouth to protest, a familiar figure strode in the door--Gabriel flinging his arms open wide. 

"Cassie!"

Castiel sighed. "How many times must I tell you to not call me that, Gabriel?"

Gabriel ignored him in favor of inhaling the scent of cooking food. "Oh my god, that smells good."

Castiel rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Dean made it. What do you want?"

"Oh, the cutie outside?" Gabriel grinned. "Is he the one in love with you?"

"No," Castiel tried to say as all of the boys overrode him with a louder, "Yes!"

"What do you want?" Castiel sighed again.

"Well, I did come to pick you up, you little ingrate, but I got invited to stay for dinner."

"Dean hasn't finished his chemistry homework yet anyway." Castiel scowled at his older brother as Gabriel dug a spoon out of a drawer. He dipped it into the pot of chili, making an almost pornographic moan as it placed it in his mouth.

"Cassie, if you don't marry that boy, I might, just for his cooking."

"Try a pie," Victor said, unhelpfully, earning a glare from Castiel and another inappropriate noise from Gabriel.

"Do I even want to know what's going on in there?" Dean asked as he and Sonny walked in, Dean's hands greasy.

"Hush, your pie and I are having a moment," Gabriel groaned. Dean glanced at Castiel in alarm.

"Is that normal?" Dean asked, concerned.

"Nothing about Gabriel is normal." Castiel shook his head.

"Normal is overrated. If Cassie doesn't take you, I will," Gabriel said.

"Doesn't work that way. Cas is who I want."

Castiel stared at Dean until the green-eyed boy shifted in discomfort. "So...did you really turn Anna Milton down?"

Dean's eyes widened. "Who...?" He looked briefly over at his friends. "Ah. Yes, I did."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, Charlie told me," Victor said. "She and Jo saw you."

Dean groaned, burying his face in his hands as Cole said, "Well, I think it's pretty damn honorable, man. You're sticking to your guns and showing Cas you mean what you say." Cole jabbed Castiel with an elbow again. "Maybe one of these days he'll finally agree to go out with you."

Dean slid into the empty seat beside Castiel after washing his hands, leaning in close to the other boy's ear. "Don't worry, Cas. I don't want you to rush on my account. Or anyone else's. If you need more time, I can give you all that you need."

At Castiel's shy smile, Dean lit up, grinning widely. Castiel's eyes dragged down to Dean's hands in his lap. "Did you have any luck with the tractor?"

"Yeah, it needs a few parts. Spark plugs, coil, and an oil change."

Benny blinked up at Dean. "Wait a minute, you figured out the problem with the tractor?"

Dean shrugged. "I think so. Not a hard diagnosis, though. Pretty obvious. Well, to me at least."

"Bobby's hiring," Sonny said as he served out bowls of the chili. "I've already convinced Dean to meet with him and maybe try to get an interview for the opening. Might be a better placement for him than here."

Benny blinked. "What?"

"Well, you guys are all here to learn some discipline and whatnot. But the jobs you have serve your needs best. Benny, you're the foreman for me. You're pretty organized and can be tough when you need to be, but you're friendly enough to be approachable. Cole, you've got the determination and dedication to keep up with the fields, and Victor, you've got a good handle on the barns and animals. Dean would be good in any position, kid's got good work ethic, but I think Bobby would do him some good." Sonny smiled faintly.

"Someone who wouldn't put up with his bullshit?" Cole jabbed, and Dean shot him a bitchface.

"Dude, I should be happy I might get to escape you dicks for a while," Dean replied, no heat to the insult.

"Aw, don't be mad, baby!" Cole replied, laughing, and Victor shoved Cole.

"Alright, enough, guys. Let's eat. Is homework finished?" Sonny cut in.

"I need to finish my chem homework. It's mostly done, except for the section on alcohols in chemical compounds," Dean supplied, and Castiel reached for the sheet from Dean's binder on the table, scribbling a note at the top.

"Alcohols are one or more carbon atoms. Carbon needs four additional electrons for stability. A single carbon will have three hydrogen and a hydroxyl--an OH--bound to it. Methanol is, therefore CH3OH." Castiel scribbled down a diagram. "Okay. Try with two carbons," he said, scratching a line between two C's.

Dean scrunched his brow, trying to mimic Castiel's placement of the OH and plugging the rest of the spaces in with H's.

"Okay, this is ethanol. How do you think you write it?"

Dean scowled at his paper, scratching out various permutations before finally settling on CH3CH2OH. 

"Good! Alcohols are literally CH3 on one end, OH at the other, with any number of chains of CH2 in the middle. After ethanol comes propanol," Castiel cheered as Dean finally seemed to get the hang of it. "Butanol is next. After that, it's easier to keep track of the number of carbons by name because it's like shapes after that. Pentanol for five, etc."

"So I just need to keep track of the first four?" Dean asked, leaning his cheek on his palm as he filled in alcohol chains and used it to fill in gaps in chemical reaction equations.

"Pretty much. Meth-, eth-, prop-, but-. Maybe come up with a memory device for the first letters," Castiel suggested with a smile.

Dean's mouth worked around the letters, even as he stuffed a bite of chili in his mouth. "M, e, p, b....m, e, p, b...."

But then a slow smirk crawled up one corner of Dean's mouth, and Castiel found himself rather wary to ask. "What? Do I even want to know?"

"Well," Dean said smugly, "you taught me, so it had to be about you."

"And?"

Dean leaned in close, lips brushing Castiel's ear as he whispered, "My ever-precious beauty."

The red staining Castiel's cheeks staunchly refused to leave for hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a boring chapter, but critical to launch further into the story.


	16. Fourteen Years Ago; Castiel

"When are you going to say yes to Dean?"

Castiel groaned, not looking up from his homework as Jo flopped down next to him at their cafeteria table.

"I wanna know, too," Charlie chimed in as she joined them, claiming the seat on the other side of him.

"That's Dean's seat," he grumbled. He sounded petulant as hell, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Why does it matter? It's not like he's your boyfriend or anything."

Castiel glared at Jo, but she just grinned at him cheekily, her eyes sparkling with mirth and mischief. Not even a moment later, though, his expression crumpled and his eyes stung unexpectedly.

Instantly, Jo sobered. "Cas, what's wrong? I mean, you like Dean, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" Castiel buried his face in his hands as a low whine issued from his throat.

"Then what's the problem? Dean is sweet and really kind. He's also smart as hell, and the fact that he looks like Adonis doesn't hurt," Charlie asked.

Castiel's head immediately jerked up, his face flushed crimson. "Charlie!" he squeaked in indignation. "You're gay!"

"Gay, not blind. And god, you're supposed to be gay, what's the issue here?"

Castiel frowned down at the table, pushing his math aside. "It just feels temporary. I feel like the moment I say yes, he'll just...be gone."

"That's completely ridiculous, and you know it," Jo spat heatedly. "You really think he'll run off and leave, just like that?"

"He could have family out there, missing him, searching for him!" Castiel protested weakly.

"Maybe. But what if they never find him? What if he never wants to go back? He seems pretty happy here. And you said he's trying to get a job. That sounds kinda permanent, if you ask me." Charlie pointed out. She ducked her head, searching his eyes. "Are you going to waste your life on 'what-ifs'? Maybe it doesn't work out. But maybe this is the love of your life."

Castiel's shoulders sagged with a sigh. "Alright, fine. If he asks again, I'll say yes." He looked up, eyes seeking Dean out as he crossed the lunch room, tray in hand. As Dean drew closer, a girl with fair skin and long hair Castiel vaguely recognized bounced over to him.

"Dean!" She smiled at him, happy and bright.

"Hey there, lovely lady!" Dean replied with a grin, and Castiel felt his gut twinge with emotions he didn't want to name. 

"Do you have your date for the dance yet?"

Castiel had forgotten all about the Spring Formal. Damn it, was this what he thought it was?

"Nope, not yet. But I'm hopeful." Dean's smile only grew, and the girl beamed at him.

"Do you need help with that?" she asked.

"Maybe, Robin. Why, are you offering?" Dean laughed.

"Absolutely!"

Screw not naming his feelings. Rage and jealousy spiked through Castiel, burning hot, the strength of it shocking him to his core. Of course. After all, he had rejected Dean, why should it surprise him that Dean lost interest?

Castiel reached for his homework, but Charlie's hand landed on his wrist, tightening in warning.

Dean was coming closer to the table, waving in greeting. "Hey, guys. Robin and I have a project to work on for class." He clearly had no idea they'd been overheard. "I'll catch you later, okay?"

Castiel could only nod numbly as he watched the two walk off. He jerked his arm free from Charlie's grip, his breath hitching as he glared at the girls.

"You were wrong," he hissed at them.

"Cas, wait! No, it's not what you--"

But he wasn't listening to Jo. He wasn't listening to either of them as he grabbed his things and ran to the closest bathroom to throw up.

He leaned his heated face against the ice cold and likely filthy seat, choking on a sob. He'd almost believed. He'd almost been stupid enough to fall for Dean.

He had no idea how long he laid there, but a knock on the stall door shook him from his thoughts.

"Cas?"

Castiel didn't respond.

"Cas, I know you're in there."

"Go away, Dean."

Something whacked against the door, and Dean sighed. "Please come out, Cas. Please."

"How did you find me?"

"Charlie."

Of course. The traitor.

"Cas, please. It's not what you think. If you come out, I'll show you."

Castiel sat for a long time, thinking carefully before he made his decision. Finally, he pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his things. The moment the door swung open, he glared at Dean.

"If this is a trick, I will kick your ass," Castiel warned.

Dean, however, had worry creasing his forehead, and he shook his head. "No tricks, I swear." He waved for Castiel to follow.

Lifting his chin to save his pride, he followed after Dean, down the hall and towards the lockers. Dean ground to an abrupt halt, and Castiel nearly ran into him, hands against Dean's back to halt his trajectory. And when he finally shyly peeked around Dean, he found Jo, Charlie, Ash, and the Robin girl huddled in front of his locker. They glanced up at Dean, who nodded, and they stepped aside to reveal Castiel's locker covered in sticky notes.

He took a stumbling step closer, staring at each square covered in hearts, one big message scrawled across it.

"Will you go to the dance with me?"

Castiel's head jerked up, and he stared at Dean.

"It doesn't have to be a date, or that we're dating, we can just go as friends if you want," Dean rambled.

"Come on, Cas," Jo wheedled.

"But..." Castiel glanced at Robin.

She grinned and shook her head. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a huge crush on Dean, but he is so gone on you. He wanted help coming up with a grand gesture. I offered because it was so sweet of him. I'm kind of jealous!"

Dean fidgeted, frowning nervously.

"Cas, you promised," Charlie reminded him.

He sighed. He had promised, and Dean looked so very earnest and anxious.  A small smile crept across Castiel's face as he gave a minute nod. "Okay. It's a date."

Dean's mouth fell open in surprise, as if he expected anything else but a yes. "Really?"

Castiel nodded again and Dean's staggered forward, pulling him into a hug. He could hear their friends happily congratulating them, but he only closed his eyes, burying his face in Dean's neck and breathing in his scent. He could have this. He could.

Dean's pressed a shy kiss to his forehead a moment later, and Castiel chuckled.

"What?"

"I was just thinking that kissing on the mouth is going to have to wait until I've managed to brush my teeth." He chose that moment to lift his head, just in time to catch the pink dusting Dean's cheeks.

"I hadn't even thought that far ahead."

"How far, then?" Castiel grinned.

"Um," Dean ducked his head, shuffling back a scant few inches. "That if Mr. Singer hires me, I'll have money to take you out."

Castiel laughed at him. "I'm not a girl, you don't have to pay for everything."

"But I want to be able to pay for some stuff!" Dean protested.

"But first," Ash teased, "You have to find out what color Dean's dress is."

Dean flipped him off just as Benny strode down the hall towards them. "Dress for what, Chief?"

Dean's raised Castiel's hand in the air and stepped back enough to reveal the locker. With a dazed smile gracing his features, he loudly announced to the hall, "Cas said yes!"

The hall fell dead silent for a long moment until finally one frustrated voice shouted, "It's about time, Novak!" and then others began to echo the sentiment, jostling them and patting shoulders and backs.

Despite the teasing, Castiel couldn't stop smiling. Hope was a nice thing.


	17. Fourteen Years Ago; Sonny & Bobby

Between the charges against Dean being dropped and Castiel finally saying yes, Sonny made good on his promise to take Dean out to dinner to celebrate. That evening found them in front of a restaurant across the street from Singer's Salvage, not much more than a dive bar really, and Dean squinted up at the sign with uncertainty.

"Are you sure this is the place?"

Sonny chuckled at the look on Dean's face. "I know, I know. Cus' down the road looks way more family friendly. And their pie is good. But the locals? They know this is the place to be for a burger."

"Well, I'm always on board for a good burger."

"Then you won't be disappointed," Sonny assured.

As they stepped inside, a general greeting arose, and Sonny paused to introduce Dean to a few folks. Dean started in surprise when someone bumped into him, and he turned to find Jo standing there.

"Hey, Dean!" She grinned at him, even as Dean's confusion grew.

"Jo? What are you doing here?"

"I work here, man. It's my mom's place, remember?"

Right. Small town, everybody knew everyone else and was probably related to a fair part of the local population.

"What brings you in?" Jo interrupted his thoughts.

"Uh..."

"Celebrating that he is no longer painfully single," Sonny teased, and Dean blushed crimson. "Or under the sway of the state."

Jo looked like she was about to ask, but Ellen poked her head out to yell at her.

"Jo, back to work, you're not on break!"

Jo rolled her eyes and smiled at Dean before rushing off to grab a tray of food.

Ellen's eyes lit up as they landed on Dean. "Hey, you're up and about!" she said as she stepped out, smiling at him. "You look nice." She reached out and tugged on the flannel he wore, and he glanced down, blushing.

"Um, it's not much. Jody took me to a surplus store one weekend."

Ellen grinned. "Still, you look nice. Couple of bacon cheeseburgers and two cokes?"

"You know it," Sonny said. "We're also meeting with Bobby tonight about him possibly hiring Dean. He here yet?"

Ellen jerked her head towards the bar, shooting Dean one last smile. "I heard about that. Good luck!"

Sonny led the way over, sitting down next to a guy with a beard and a trucker hat.

"Hey, Bobby!"

"Sonny," Bobby grunted, glancing up from his beer. When he spotted Dean, however, he paled slightly, choking on his next sip. Sonny slapped his back.

"You alright there, old man?" Sonny teased.

"Dean, right?" Bobby said instead, eyeing the teen warily. "Ellen's pet project from the hospital?"

Dean barely resisted the urge to duck his head and held the man's gaze with a firm nod.

"Yes, sir. Dean Smith."

Bobby's expression tightened into something unreadable. "Smith."

"Yes, sir." Dean stiffened under his scrutiny.

"'67 Impala."

"Ex-excuse me?" Dean stammered.

"Your picture. Jody showed me. It's a '67 Impala." 

Dean just nodded blankly, looking up when Ellen slid a plate in front of him. "Thanks."

"Sonny told me you figured out the problem with the tractor."

"Yes, sir."

Bobby tilted his head, glancing over at Sonny. "Military?"

Sonny shrugged, watching as Dean curiously picked up his burger and bit into, moaning.

"Oh my god, that's good." He looked up at the two older men, flushing with sudden embarrassment. "I, uh, I mean....sorry."

Bobby relaxed at that, bursting out laughing. "Don't you worry none. Ellen's a fine cook. Sonny tells me you're not bad at that, either. So if the garage doesn't work out, we could always get you a job here."

Dean smiled shyly, nodding as he stuffed a fry in his mouth. "Okay. So, um, what do you want me to do to apply?"

"Finish your dinner first. Then we'll go across the street to the garage and I'll test you."

Dean had no problem packing away the entire plate, gulping down his soda before he and Bobby crossed the street to the garage.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"So, how have things been going at school?" Bobby asked, and Dean made a confused noise, peering into the dark of the garage bay before Bobby flipped on the light. "Classes hard or easy?"

Dean shrugged faintly. "Classes are okay. Some are harder than others, I guess." When he glanced up, he found Bobby watching him carefully. He turned away again, eyes scanning the garage. It held an air of familiarity, something he supposed could be chalked up to most garages being alike.

But then again, how was he to know?

"I like technology and history. English is okay," he finally offered when Bobby had nothing else to say, and he paused, stepping closer to an old Chevelle, beat to Hell. "Um, '71?"

"Yeah, how'd you--"

Dean shrugged. "The shape. Although this one's awful rough."

"So you know the Chevelle, but not the Impala. Not much of a Chevy man?"

Dean chewed his lower lip, glancing away evasively. "Honestly hadn't thought about that picture much. It's not like it means anything to me anyway."

"Still have it?" Bobby asked as he strode forward to join Dean, and Dean nodded.

"Yeah. In my wallet. Car's not important, but I feel like the other kid is. Dunno why, to be honest."

When he peered up at Bobby, the older man's mouth was hanging open, as if he genuinely meant to say something, anything. But all that came out was a choked noise. Yeah, surprise. Nobody ever knew what to say to that.

"So you don't remember anything? Nothing about yourself, 'cept your name?" was what finally came out.

Dean winced. "I swear it won't impact my ability to work. I mean...maybe don't hand me fragile stuff yet, 'cause I've still got tremors now and then and I still drop crap, but I can handle it."

Bobby studied him for a long, careful moment before ducking into a small office in the back of the building. "Okay. Prove it," he replied, leaning out and tossing Dean a set of keys that promptly slipped from his grasp and clattered to the stained concrete floor.

Dean looked up, leveling a look that screamed, "Really? I mean, really??" before stooping to pick up the keys and clomping over to the Chevelle. He ducked inside to slip the key in the ignition, inhaling sharply when it rattled to life.

"Oh, baby, what did your owner do to you, you poor thing?" Dean moaned mournfully, running a hand over the rusted shell.

"You wanna tell me what's wrong with her?" Bobby asked, closer, and Dean choked.

"It'd take less time to tell you what's right!" He sighed, popping the hood and reaching in to fiddle with the fuel line. "The frame seems solid. Windows in decent shape, bumper's not too dinged up. The headlights could be buffed up, maybe, but God. Transmission, spark plugs, fuel line, brakes, heat, all need work, the panels have seen better days, and those tires have got to go."

"Tell you what. We can get you started on this and see how you can handle it. You tell me parts, I'll buy 'em, you fix 'em."

"Really, Mr. Singer?" Dean head jerked up to peer at him, eyes rounded with surprise and hope.

"Sure. You get this thing up and running and we'll see about a bonus," Bobby said, leaning past him to turn the engine off. But when his arm swept over Dean's head, he heard a sharp intake of breath and watched as the set of Dean's shoulders tensed.

He withdrew instantly, taking a step back. "You alright there, son?"

Another quick inhalation, and Dean jerked slightly. "s nothing. 'm fine, Mr. Singer."

The temptation was there to try to comfort the teen, to assure him he was safe, and the words nearly bubbled out of his mouth. But staring at Dean's taut spine, he rubbed a hand over his beard and swallowed them down instead.

"Can you start Monday?"

Dean relaxed faintly before nodding, still facing away from him. "Uh, yeah, Monday's great. Thank you so much."

"Good, I'll see you then. For now, let's head back over and you can tell Sonny the good news."

Dean finally turned back around again, a tiny smile on his face.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

That left Sonny to sip on a beer as Ellen came to join him for a break.

"So he's cleared."

Sonny nodded, looking up from his drink. "Yep."

"You gonna take him?"

Sonny shrugged. "I'll keep him as long as I can, Ellen. After that...you know the state limits what I can do. They think I'm great for temporary stability, but God forbid I want to really foster one. Too much instability all of a sudden, with the other boys and my own past."

"What will they do with him?" Ellen frowned.

"Group home. One that won't likely give a shit if anything happens to him." Sonny glowered at the bar top, and Ellen sighed unhappily.

"Everything that boy knows is here. Least what he lets on to knowing. School, friends, maybe love. They'd just rip that away?"

Sonny shrugged. "They don't care. They have a job to do, too many kids to concern themselves with any one individual. They'll do what's easiest and legal for them."

"Wouldn't it be easier to leave him with you?" Ellen growled, and Sonny sat up, surprised at the heat in her words. "Someone hurt that boy, bad. He needs someone who cares about him for once."

"My hands are tied, Ellen. But he has Jody, and he has you. I'm sure you ladies can figure something out."

Ellen sighed and tapped her fist on the bar. "I'll talk to Bobby, too. See what he thinks. A job might give the state more incentive to let him stay."

A small smile curved the edge of Sonny's lips, and he looked up at the door as Dean charged back inside.

"Sonny!" Dean's grin was wide and joyful. "Mr. Singer says I can start next week after school! Isn't that great?"

Sonny lifted his beer in a mock toast before tipping the rest of it back. "That's great, Dean! I'm happy for you. Did you remember to thank Mr. Singer?"

Bobby grunted as he stepped in after Dean. "Of course, boy has manners. And call me Bobby, son. Mr. Singer makes me feel old."

"You are old!" Jo teased as she swept past with a tray of dirty dishes, and Sonny shook his head as Dean slid down next to him. 

"I can't wait to tell Cas. Can I...can I maybe take him on a date after I get my first paycheck?" His eyes were bright with hope, dimming the shadows of the fearful boy who had come to him not so long ago.

Custody issues could wait. He could let Dean be happy.

"Of course, Dean. Of course."


	18. Fourteen Years Ago; Bobby

Monday arrived in a sheet of rain and whispers of a brutal animal attack in the woods, leaving three savaged to death, that left Sonny hypervigilant when the boys were out in the fields. Even Dean got a stern warning about keeping his eyes open and coming straight home after work. He agreed, even if he did roll his eyes in exasperation.

The second the bell rang at the end of the school day, Dean stopped long enough to hug Castiel goodbye, and Castiel ran his fingers through Dean's hair with a soft smile and a wish for him to have a good day at work.

And it was a good day. Dean pulled on a pair of too-large pair of coveralls and went straight to work on the Chevelle, picking apart the engine block first.

"How's it looking?" Bobby grunted, leaning in as Dean added to his growing list of parts.

"Complete engine and transmission rebuild," Dean replied shortly before he paused. "Might need to drill out a few screws."

Bobby nodded, still looking down into the block. "Want me to start in on your list there?"

Dean lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Might as well start with a new car, the budget for this might be huge."

Bobby just snorted. "Lemme just see what kinda magic I can work, son."

Dean's head twitched up briefly, but he nodded, rubbing his arm across his sweaty forehead. "Go for it," he finally settled on saying, starting a fresh page.

Bobby wandered back into the salvage yard to begin digging, losing himself for over an hour in the piles of wreckage as he hunted down usable parts he could sell, trade, or repurpose, grinning when he surfaced with a near pristine gear box from an old 1970 Cuda.

A familiar throaty engine growl, however, was what finally made him surface from his reverie, and his head jerked up in alarm towards the garage. His anxiety did not ease when a recognizable black car came around the side to the back, and he straightened up slowly so as not to alert the driver.

The door swung open, and out climbed none other than John Smith AKA John Winchester, and Bobby pinned him with a glare.

"What's your sorry ass doing back here?"

"Hello to you, too, Bobby," John grunted at him. "And you made the call on a werewolf. I was closest."

Bobby's scowl deepened as he glanced at the car. "Where's the boys this time, John?"

"Sam's fine, staying with someone."

"And the other son of yours?"

"I only got one, and he isn't one of them degenerates!" John snarled a little too loudly, but Bobby didn't back down.

"No, John. You have two sons. Or three actually. Isn't that right?"

John shot him a furious and wary look. "What?"

"I'm not some old fool, John. I know about Adam and Kate. Is that where you've got Sam? Or with Pastor Jim?"

John's dirty look remained, but he knew better than to argue with the man who practically ran huge chunks of the phone and information network.

"At the very least, leave him with Kate. Boy like Sam should have something to keep him busy til your oldest comes back," Bobby said, and John bared his teeth.

"Don't, Bobby. Unless he straightens up he isn't welcome back--"

"--John--"

"--and I'll fix him again if he ever shows his cowardly face!"

Bobby went still, staring at John as the gravity of what that could possibly mean sunk in.

"John, what did you do?" Bobby hissed, voice low.

"Nothing that sick pervert didn't have coming."

Bobby had hoped, he had hoped  _so much_ \--

"I don't want him infecting Sammy."

"It's not a disease, John, it's--you--" Bobby trailed off stammering.

John growled. "I'm not here to argue parenting with someone who never raised kids!"

Bobby bit his tongue, holding back any comments he might dare make about Ellen's kids. He kept them away from this life as much as possible.

"I'm here to take care of your furry friend, nothing else. Give me the information and I'll be out of your hair."

Bobby huffed a sigh, lifting his hat by the bill to scratch at his forehead. "Fine. Sullivan County Police are in an uproar and crawling all over the place, so be careful to stay out of sight."

The glare he got back spoke volumes--What kind of an idiot do you take me for?

Well, plenty of an idiot, that was for sure. But at the very least, he could be sure John wasn't an idiot about police and werewolves.

"Three dead up in the hills there of the Fallsburg Parks and Recreation area. Third side trail on the left, it was blocked off after a late Spring mudslide and wasn't supposed to be traveled. But when the hikers went missing, Search and Rescue dogs found them there. They're calling it a bear attack."

"And you're sure it's not a bear?" Skepticism clouded John's eyes.

Bobby sniffed, rubbing his nose with the side of his hand. "'course it ain't. Don't be an idjit. Not all types of weres are limited by the full moon, and those slashes in the bodies were way too big for any bear."

"How'd you even manage to get a look? It's not like they wouldn't recognize you if you came sauntering up to the morgue."

Jody's face immediately came to Bobby's mind. "I've got connections, you know that. Take plenty of silver with you, flamethrowers, wolfsbane. Sage and mistletoe or mercury wouldn't hurt, but I ain't got that kind of stuff on hand right now."

John snorted, waving him off. 

"And don't stay in town here."

"Hadn't planned on it," John spat back over his shoulder as he turned to go. "I'll call you after, let you know when it's done."

It wasn't until after John climbed back into the car--engine growling back to life--and rolled out of the yard, down the street, and around the corner that Bobby finally relaxed and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It took a few more deep breaths before he was able to steel himself enough to walk back into the garage.

A smile cracked his face when he spotted Dean still working, leaning over the car and humming and wiggling along to the rock music steadily pumping from the speakers overhead. The boy looked so relaxed that for just a moment, Bobby was able to forget who had just been in the yard, not even fifty feet away.

Dean twisted, glancing over at Bobby with a broad smile. "Heya, Boss!" He lifted a wrench triumphantly overhead. "Did you know that WD40 is, like, the best stuff ever? We'll have to drill out way fewer screws than I originally thought! I mean, unless you can muscle these last two outta here." Dean motioned toward the engine, and Bobby nodded, holding up the gear box.

"Won't help with that thing, but look at this."

"Hey, 1970 'Cuda! Nice. And I thought I heard a 327 outside, about 275 horsepower--" Dean started, but one of Bobby's employees, Rufus Turner, strode out of the office.

"I found us a couple of old Skylark wrecks we can pick for parts for the Chevelle," he said, without preamble and completely cutting off Dean altogether. "Might be able to scavenge almost enough if we're lucky." He nodded at the gear box in Bobby's hand. "And that should fetch us a couple hundred bucks, too, or at least a decent parts trade." 

Dean glanced from Bobby back to Rufus, mouth opening to say something else, but all three of them jumped slightly when Sonny's truck rumbled up, the horn honking out a greeting. Sonny leaned out the window. "Hey, you ready to go?"

Bobby looked down at his watch to find Dean's four hours were already over for today, and the surprise must have registered on his face.

"Went by so fast, huh?" Dean ribbed lightly. "Does that make me good company, Bobby?"

The corner of Bobby's mouth twitched up in an almost-imperceptible smile, and he reached out to ruffle Dean's hair, laughing when he squawked indignantly about styling and gel and ducked out of reach. "Sure does, kid."

And that alone made Dean go still, eyes searching Bobby's face for the honesty in his words. "Oh."

A awkward, silent moment passed, and Bobby cleared his throat, schooling his expression to something far grumpier and more familiar. "Now you wash up and git on home, you hear? And make sure your homework is done, or I'll be telling Castiel."

Dean nodded hurriedly, rushing to not keep Sonny waiting and the car with the growling engine all but forgotten.

The moment the truck was out of sight, Bobby turned back to Rufus to find the older man frowning at him.

"You owe me for that." A finger pointed at him angrily. "That was one hell of a tactical distraction there."

Bobby snorted, but he didn't deny it. "So, about those Skylarks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, surprise folks.


	19. Fourteen Years Ago; Dean

The week passed in a hazy blur of school and work, but Dean's eyes lit up Friday evening when Bobby pressed a wad of cash into his hands. He stared down at the money, clearly uncertain on what to do next.

"What's wrong, son?"

"I..." Dean's eyes slowly dragged up to Bobby's slightly amused face, and he swallowed hard. "Is this...mine?"

Bobby barked out a laugh. "'Course it is! First paycheck. Might want to consider opening a bank account, better than carting all that around. For now, put it in your wallet." When Dean didn't reply, he pressed on. "The dance is tomorrow night, right?"

Dean nodded, finally pulling out his tired billfold to tuck the money away. "Yeah, Cas got the tickets, but, uh...yeah. Feels different, knowing I earned it."

Bobby tensed at his words. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, Sonny gives us a little. "

The tension drained from Bobby's shoulders. "And you don't feel like you earned that?"

Dean shrugged. "Victor said it's like having your dad give you an allowance for chores you're supposed to do anyway." He rubbed his thumb over the edge of the folded picture peeking out, frowning before he stuffed the wallet back into his pocket.

"Well you definitely earned that. Have fun tomorrow, son."

When Dean looked up at Bobby again, it was with a cocky smirk pasted on his face. "Oh, I'll have fun alright."

Bobby snorted as Sonny's truck pulled up. "I'll let Sonny know you need to have 'The Talk'."

Dean's mouth fell open, betrayed. "You wouldn't."

"Don't test me."

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Dean was an anxious mess. He was well aware of the fact, too. But standing in front of the mirror, buttoning his pale green shirt collar with trembling hands? He couldn't help it. Hanging out with Castiel up til now had been like hanging with friends--movies on tv, homework, walks--but this. This was a DATE.

Movies made the first date seem so...contrite. Stupid even. 

That was the last thing he wanted for his first real date with Castiel. He wanted it to be special. He wanted it to be clear how serious he was because he really liked Castiel. He was gorgeous, of course, but he was also smart and sweet. He didn't care if Dean's head was a little fucked up, and he'd been kind enough to let Dean be the one to say as much or as little as he liked about it.

So far, only his friends and a few necessary adults knew. Teachers, Bobby, Sonny, folks like that. It led to problems now and then, of course, like the substitute who had gotten annoyed when Dean didn't hear an instruction and had yelled at him, "Are you brain damaged or something?" That was awkward.

But things like this, reminders how little he knew about himself or any past experience he had on anything, it wore on him.

"Look at you, you clean up good!"

Dean jolted hard, whacking his knuckles against the mirror as he spun around, hissing in pain. 

Sonny's hands shot up defensively, and Dean pasted on a weak, placating smile.

"Need a hand?" Sonny motioned aimlessly at the top button plaguing Dean, and Dean glanced down, as if he could see it from that angle.

"Nah, I'm aiming for roguish."

"You look like you can't dress yourself," Gabriel piped up from the open doorway, his own t-shirt ratty and stained.

"You're one to talk, you look like you're homeless," Dean snarked, giving up on the button as a lost cause and reaching for the flower he'd left lying on his bed.

Gabriel pressed a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. "Is that any way to treat the guy who hand-delivered your boyfriend tonight?"

"Bite me, Gabe!" Dean called cheerfully as he pushed past him and darted down the steps. He froze at the bottom one when he caught sight of Castiel across the room, his hair tamed with a little gel and wearing a soft blue dress shirt, only coming out of his daze when Gabriel barreled into him from behind with an indignant noise.

Castiel turned, a smile brightening his handsome face when he caught sight of Dean. "You look nice, Dean."

"You, too." Dean swallowed hard as he came closer, eyes still locked on Castiel until Castiel frowned, touching his cheek self-consciously.

"Do I have something on my face?"

"No, no!" Dean rushed to assure him. "No, your face....your face is fine. Great. Nice. You have a very nice face. Let's forget I'm talking."

A smile quirked up a corner of Castiel's mouth, but he didn't say anything, allowing Dean to fumble with the flower and patiently waiting for him to pin it on before returning the favor.

Gabriel drove them to the Roadhouse for dinner, where they patiently put up with Ellen snapping pictures until Benny, Victor, and Cole came in with Benny and Victor's dates, Andrea and Tessa, in tow, and then Dean and Castiel managed to escape further horrors of photography until Jo, Charlie, and Ash arrived.

The moment Charlie spotted them, she tugged on Jo's arm, pointing and letting loose frankly the most high-pitched and terrifying squeal Dean had ever heard. Not that he had much of a reference point to work from.

"You two look so cute!"

"I look like a dressed up preppy douche," Dean lamented, tugging on the collar of the shirt, turning to Castiel for support.

Castiel stared back, wearing a small smile. "You look very nice, Dean," he replied, reiterating his earlier statement.

"Traitor."

Once Ellen had finished the requisite nightmare of picture-taking, she finally relented and brought out baskets of fries for them while their food cooked.

But before Dean knew it, dinner was over (he insisted on paying for Castiel's) and they were making their way back to the school for the dance. They suffered through another round of photos before shuffling into the gym, one amorphous blob of teenagers congregating around a food table, while another mass huddled against the wall, cheesy 90s pop music filtering out of the speakers.

"Okay," Dean muttered, "is it too much to hope someone spiked the punch to liven up this party?"

A hand swatted his arm, but he grabbed for Castiel to make a beeline for the food table.

"Dean, you just ate!"

"So?"

"So...where do you put it all?"

"Hollow leg. You just shake it all down."

Dean turned his head once he'd come to a halt in front of a tray of miniature sausages wrapped in pastry to find Castiel squinting at him. "You don't have a hollow leg."

"It's a saying, Cas." He snapped up one of the snacks, stuffing it into his mouth before dumping a few more and some cream puffs onto a plate. "Let's go find a table."

Castiel wrinkled his nose at Dean for talking with his mouth full, but allowed it when Dean snagged his hand and wove their way through the crowd, dropping his plate at the corner table their friends had claimed when the DJ switched over to a slow song.

Jo pulled Charlie out onto the floor, tugging her in close and slowly swaying with her as the music played. Dean smiled faintly at them before glancing in Castiel's direction, only to find Castiel was watching them, almost wistfully.  Dean didn't know if he could dance, really, but the swaying part didn't look so hard. He could handle it. He could totally handle it. Simple.

He held a hand out to Castiel and blurted out, "May I have this dance?" Straight out of one of those cheesy films. He felt like slapping his forehead.

But Castiel didn't seem even remotely bothered. In fact, he eagerly reached for Dean's hand, nodding and grinning so wide, his cheeks had to hurt. 

He found them their own open, quiet spot on the floor, one arm wrapped around Castiel's back as he held him close, the other hand wrapped around Castiel's and held between their chests as he leaned his forehead against his boyfriend's. This, he could do. Yup, all good here.

"Dean?" Castiel's voice cut into his thoughts. "Are you okay? You seem...tense."

"'m fine, Cas." Dean laughed, the sound far too breathy for his own preference.

"But--"

"'s nothing, I swear."

Castiel fell silent, releasing a gust of air on a sigh before tucking his free hand between their bodies, closing his eyes and giving in to the movement of their bodies. Slowly, his hand inched upwards, and Dean suppressed a shiver as Castiel's cool fingers stroked against the side of his neck. When he glanced down again, Castiel was watching him carefully, and Dean shifted slightly, trying to pull away the moment the music switched back to upbeat pop.

Their friends swarmed the floor, crowding close and cutting off Dean's attempted escape as they forced him to dance along with embarrassing NSYNC tunes, everyone laughing as Ash mimicked the puppet-like dance moves for one of their signature songs, bumping against Cole with a laugh.

"You know," Dean teased, finally starting to relax and enjoy the evening, "you and Ash are the only two stag fellas here. Maybe you should just hook up and be done with it!"

Benny and Victor laughed, and even Charlie and Jo snickered at the way that Cole wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Eugh, no offense man, and I mean seriously none at all, but I don't swing that way. Besides, mullets just don't do it for me, so it would never work out even if I was queer!"

_No_ _son of mine is some queer!_

"Ow! Dean, what are you doing?" Castiel hissed, pulling his hand from Dean's sudden bruising grip.

_Straighten out or I'll fix you myself!_

"Dean?" Castiel asked again, frowning when Dean didn't respond. Their friends crowded in closer, concerned.

_Get out!_

"You okay, Chief?" Benny rumbled, brows knitting together as he leaned in.

_Get out!_

Cole swallowed hard, eyes wide with shame. "Hey, man, I didn't mean anything bad by it, I--"

**_GET OUT!_ **

Dean choked on bile in the back of his throat, shoving through hard in his haste to bolt.

_get out, get away, run away_

Instinct to flee boiled hot in his blood as he pounded down the hall, slamming through the back door and into the cool, dark night before he rammed his shoulder into a wall, spinning with the impact and whacking his back against concrete brick. An ugly sob tore free, shredding at his throat, his hands fisting into his hair as he wrenched at the strands.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Heaving in great gulps of air, he crumpled to the ground as embarrassing streaks of wetness trickled down his cheeks.

Why this, why now? Of all things he should remember, why that? Why?

He jerked back with a cry when a hand landed on his arm, whacking his head on the wall as he struggled to blink his eyes clear.

"No, no, please no, no, stop, stop!" Thick moans were wrung from his chest.

"Dean? Dean, it's Castiel. It's Cas, you're alright, you're okay," a familiar voice soothed. Dean whimpered, reaching out until a warm, soft hand folded into his, and he clung to it like a lifeline. Warm breath gusted over his neck as Castiel pressed in close, murmuring gently into Dean's ear.

"Breathe with me, Dean."

Struggling against his own gasps, Dean slowly matched his breathing until the panic in his chest receded. It was only then he blinked up to find Benny, Cole, and Victor crowded nearby and wearing matching expressions of worry.

"I'm really sorry, Dean," Cole mumbled sheepishly. "I didn't mean to offend you, I wasn't trying to be an ass."

"You didn't offend me," Dean croaked hoarsely, holding his arm close to his chest. Chuck was supposed to be removing the cast soon, but it throbbed with phantom aches.

"Then what happened, man?" Victor asked. "That was pretty damn awful."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, tilting his head back and clutching Castiel's hand. His teeth worked at his lower lip for a moment, shaking his head before opening his mouth.

"So help me, if you say it's nothing, I will smack you," Castiel threatened, and Dean cut off with a breathy squeak.

It took three tries before Dean finally managed to force out, "I remembered something."

"What? Dean, what did you remember? It could be important."

Dean shook his head again, drawing a shaky breath. "Just...the reason why I don't want to remember." Tipping his head down, he stared at his arm. "I think...I think the guy who did it...I think he did it 'cause..." 

He cut off, swallowing hard, but his friends seemed to understand the unspoken words.

"I'm sorry," Cole apologized again.

"'s not your fault. You didn't know." Dean bit out a harsh laugh. "Hell, neither did I."

"Do you feel like going back in, or do you want to go home?" Castiel asked, gentle and cautious, and Dean let himself be pulled back to his feet.

"Let's go back in, dance like idiots, and eat ourselves sick." After a bullshit episode like that, the last thing he wanted was to be alone.

The other three wandered back inside, but Dean tugged at Castiel, holding him back. Castiel glanced up, confused. 

"What? Is something else wrong?"

Dean shook his head carefully. "No it's just...thanks, Cas."

Castiel squinted up at him. "For what?"

Dean lifted their clasped hands between them. "When, um..." He trailed off, cheeks tingling pink. Castiel just smiled patiently until Dean was ready. "When I was in the hospital and you'd hold my hand, it would help ground me. Remind me _you_ were real, not my nightmares."

Castiel's smile widened, genuine and soft. "Do you...would you like something else to remind you?" He looked up, eyes searching Dean's as he leaned in closer.

"What...what did you have in mind?" Dean asked, breathless and hopeful.

Castiel closed the last bit of distance between them, lightly sealing his lips over Dean's.


	20. Fourteen Years Ago; Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally meant to go with the last chapter, but I'm very grateful this one ended up being a stand-alone and short. It was a long week with the loss of senior peers, two birthdays, and then the devastating season finale. I considered taking a hiatus, but this was my effort to force myself to keep going.

It was late by the time Castiel pushed his way into his house through the back door, having lingered just a little too long under the burnt-out light to kiss Dean good-bye, and it left the blue-eyed boy feeling like he was walking on air. A smile played at the corners of his mouth, and he sighed, turning to fumble for the light switch in the dark. He froze when voices sounded from the living room, a pained grunt.

"Damn it, what were ya thinkin', ya idjit!"

What was Bobby doing here? Castiel swallowed hard, creeping closer to the edge of the kitchen door.

"I took care of it, didn't I? Just have your doc here stitch me up and I'll get out of your hair."

Castiel cautiously peeked into the living room to find an unfamiliar man with dark hair, a scruffy jaw, and furious glare scowling up at Bobby from where he was seated on a chair. His shirt was balled up in his fists, bloody and torn, and four massive claw marks stretched across his shoulder, oozing and seeping dark red while Castiel's uncle wiped it away.

"Got enough wolfsbane in that solution there?" the man grunted.

Wolfsbane?

Bobby sighed, irritation leaking into his voice. "Of course, what kinda fool do you take me for?"

Seriously, though, wolfsbane? Why would they treat an open wound with poison?

Castiel jumped, suppressing a tiny gasp when the front door swung open, and he pulled back into the kitchen, nearly yelping when he bumped into the kitchen table behind him.

"I took care of the body, Bobby. You and Mr. Smith owe me big here, that took a lot of convincing to have it left as an animal attack."

Bobby and Sheriff Mills were both here? Castiel turned, hands brushing over books laid out over the top of a table. Pages barely visible in the low light of the kitchen displayed horrific images of beastly creatures, enormous bipedal monsters with slathering fangs, coarse fur, and glimmering eyes.

Werewolves.

Castiel wanted to scoff, but he had seen the claw marks on that Mr. Smith. There was no animal with paws large enough or claws huge enough, but...there was no way, right? The moon cycle was off, the full moon wasn't for some time to come.

A soft gasp of pain wrenched his attention back to the living room.

"You think it's the only one out there? Any theories as to why it didn't depend on the full moon to shift?"

"It's probably a born wolf," Mr Smith spoke up. "Some of them can shift outside of the full moon, although the full moon makes the pull impossible to ignore." He grunted again, and a quick peek revealed that Uncle Chuck was stitching the man's shoulder back together.

"I thought born wolves usually keep to themselves," Bobby replied, and Castiel watched as the man shrugged his other shoulder.

This was insane. This whole conversation was fucking insane. And Castiel was not one to curse lightly.

"A broken pack recently moved to New York. This was one of the survivors, a Peter Hale." Mr. Smith made a low noise. "Can't a man get a drink around here?"

"No," came the unanimous response. Uncle Chuck never kept alcohol in the house, and Castiel was grateful for it

"Any other survivors?" Jody picked up some of the bloodied gauze with gloved hands and shoved it into a bag.

"Niece and nephew, Laura and Derek." Mr. Smith raised a brow at her. "I'll--"

"I'll look into them," Jody cut him off coolly. "After all, as the local law enforcement, it's my duty to inform next of kin."

"Speaking of kin--" Mr. Smith tried to speak again, and Castiel watched, fascinated, as Jody's cool mask barely shifted.

"No. There's been no developments." She continued to stuff medical waste into a bag, snatching the ruined shirt from Mr. Smith's hands and throwing a clean t-shirt in his face while Chuck carefully taped bandages over the stitched claw marks on his shoulder. "I'll make sure this makes into the biohazard waste at the hospital."

Incineration. Jody planned to burn evidence. But then again, werewolves? If this wasn't some sort of psychotic dream, who would even believe it? Castiel turned, glancing back at the books, and he lifted the open page, his face paling when he was met with the sight of an entry on vampires. Nope, he definitely didn't need to know anymore than that. Another noise of discomfort drew him back to the kitchen door, and he watched as Mr. Smith maneuvered the t-shirt on over his head before tugging a canvas military jacket on over it.

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Smith," Jody said evenly, but even Castiel could pick up on the tenseness in her voice. "We're grateful for the assistance."

Mr. Smith grunted, and Bobby patted his good shoulder. "Call ahead next time, give me a better heads up on what we're looking for, you got me?" the mechanic said, and Mr. Smith nodded before Jody escorted him out. Chuck pulled off his gloves and stuck them in the bag of waste and began packing up his med kit, but he jumped when Jody stormed back in, the front door slamming shut behind her. Her eyes blazed with anger as she shoved into Bobby's face, pointing a finger at him, accusation hanging at the edge of her lips as she sputtered in wordless anger for a few moments.

"You knew." Finally the allegation sprung free. But knew what? What did Bobby know?

"I...suspected. It'd been a couple years since I last saw him."

Chuck glanced back and forth between them, confusion evident but slowly clearing. "Is this about--?"

"Yes," Jody replied, eyes still on Bobby, and Chuck's own eyes widened with a gasp.

"But you just--you can't--is what you did even legal??" he squawked. "I can't get in the middle of something like this, it could end my career if anyone found out I knew!"

Jody's face scrunched up as she finally turned to face Chuck. "Dr. Shurley, you saw the same injuries I did. The outcome would have been the same either way."

"But he deserves to know!"

Who deserved to know what? What were they even talking about?

But Bobby shook his head slowly. "No, it's easier this way if he doesn't. What John did...he shouldn't have to remember." The older man let out a low growl. "He practically confessed, but not in enough words to convict him of anything."

Who shouldn't have to remember what?

"Mr. Singer, Sheriff Mills--"

"He's better off here. He's safer. He's happier." Jody turned pleading eyes to Chuck. "A court order has been filed and I know the Judge. Everything will turn out the way we want it to. He's better off staying here."

Chuck sighed, a long gust of air through his nose, and he held his hands up in defeat. "Alright. Alright, fine. I'll keep my mouth shut, but only because I'm afraid the court would rule against us if they knew. And after what I saw, I can't in good conscience let it happen again."

Castiel swayed on his feet, stunned. They were breaking the law. All three of them were breaking the law. To protect someone, yes, but still....and he had eavesdropped on their entire conversation.

Castiel bit his lower lip, glancing back at the books on the table. Okay, so maybe they were breaking the law, but something about Mr. Smith struck him as off. And if this guy was hunting creatures like those in that book, then whomever they were keeping from him was probably better off not being dragged along into that kind of danger. He could keep his mouth shut, too, for this person's sake.

He opened the back door silently, slipping back out into the cool night and leaning his back against the door, and the memory of what had just happened on that back porch washed over him.

Dean.

They were talking about Dean.

He was certain.

For Dean, he could remain silent. For Dean, he could keep this secret.

For Dean, he could keep him from this man, this Mr. Smith, who dragged him into danger and clearly treated him like glorified punching bag, because Dean's injuries when he'd been brought in had clearly been man-made. And given the quiet confession of Dean's surfaced memory at the dance, his certainty that he'd been abused for being queer? For that, Castiel could be mute.

Castiel pasted on a smile, swung the back door open, and loudly shut it behind himself as he announced, "I'm home!"

Chuck's face appeared at the kitchen door, surprise evident as Bobby pushed in past him to sweep the books on the table into a pile. "Welcome home. How was the dance?" his uncle asked. "Did you make sure you had enough to drink? Are you hungry?"

Castiel smiled and shook his head, stepping towards his uncle and pulling him into a hug. "It was wonderful. We had a wonderful time." He glanced out the front window in time to see Jody's squad car pull away, and when he stepped back, Bobby was tucking the boos under his arm.

"Thank you for your, ah, assistance with my research, Mr. Singer," Chuck said with a nervous nod in Bobby's direction, and the mechanic touched his hand with a half smile.

"Not a problem, doc." He glanced at Castiel. "You do know I'll be grilling Dean come Monday, don't you, son?"

Castiel blushed, ducking his head. "Of course, sir. I wouldn't expect anything else." When he raised his face again, still stained a light pink, he broke out in a genuine smile."I wouldn't expect anything less of you but to protect Dean."

A brief flash of surprise washed over Bobby's face before he schooled his expression back to a carefully neutral one. "I don't know what you mean."

Castiel's smile widened. "I'm not the only one who loves him, sir." And then his smile shifted to a full cheeky grin. "Don't worry, Mr. Singer, sir. I won't tell anyone your secret."

Mr. Singer didn't need to know which secret he meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yes, I totally slipped in a Teen Wolf reference. *grins*


	21. Fourteen Years Ago: Sam & Dean

Sam hesitated at the front door of the house, peering up at the exterior with uncertainty. Dad had insisted on heading to Minnesota after his job in New York was over, and now here they were, far from where Sam was convinced Dean still was, in front of a quaint home in Windom.  
  
"What's the hold-up out there, Sammy? Light a fire under your rear and get in here!" Dad called, and Sam finally wandered his way inside, picking a path through children's toys on the floor. Dad motioned to a woman with light brown hair and a gentle face wearing pale pink scrubs with dark rose hearts. "This here is Kate Milligan."  
  
"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Sam said quietly, peering up at her shyly from under the curtain of his bangs. He forced himself to reach out a hand for a handshake.  
  
Kate smiled at him, her teeth startlingly white and she gripped his hand and shook it. "What a gentleman!" she laughed kindly, and Sam relaxed slightly, glancing past her to where a little boy of maybe five years old was playing on the floor with a dump truck. "Adam," Kate said, as she turned to look at the boy as well, " come here, please."  
  
Adam approached slowly, shyly peeking past Kate's leg to look up at Sam. "Adam, this is Sam. Sam, Adam."  
  
Sam waved slightly, and Adam pressed his face against Kate, burying his face with a whine.  
  
"No, Adam." Kate gently turned the little boy towards Sam again, pushing him forward. "Sam is your brother."  
  
Brother? Sam snorted. This kid wasn't his brother. Sam wasn't a big brother. He was a little brother. "No, Dean is my brother."  
  
Anger clouded John's eyes, but Kate knelt between the boys. "Your father and I have been together for several years now, Sam. Adam is your little brother, and I'm your stepmom. You'll be staying here with us while your father is on business trips from now on."  
  
Sam's eyes filled with tears, and he shook his head, backing away from her. "No." His voice wobbled, and he shook his head again, harder. "No! I want Dean! I want my brother! I want Dean!" Sam turned on his heel, fleeing from the house and back to the Impala, but as his hand closed on the handle, he felt arms wrap around his torso and pull him back.  
  
"No! No, let me go! Let me go! I have to find Dean! He needs us, we left him behind!"  
  
John twisted him around, dropping Sam on his feet and shaking him as he dropped to his knee in the dirt. His face twisted in rage, and he raised his hand, landing a quick strike across Sam's cheek. Sam gasped at the sharp pain, falling silent, and gaping up at his father. "Dean is gone, he's never coming back! He's a coward, he's the one who left us. He doesn't need us, he can take care of himself!" John's chest heaved with furious pants for breath. "And I don't want to hear his name again, you hear me?"  
  
Sam didn't make a sound at first, and John gripped his shoulders harder, giving him another shake. "Do you hear me!"  
  
Sam hiccuped a sob, tears spilling down his cheeks as he began to cry, but he finally managed a nod as Kate cautiously made her way outside.  
  
"John, the boy's stressed enough." Her hands landed gently on Sam's shoulders as John jerked away from him, and she squeezed softly, smiling at him when he peered up at her with wide, wet eyes. "How would you like some macaroni and cheese?"  
  
Sam sagged, his head dropping, but he nodded and allowed himself to be steered inside. Kate parked him at a dining table beside Adam in a booster seat, and Adam glanced up from his macaroni, eyes like saucers when Kate set another plate of macaroni in front of Sam.  
  
"You like mac n' cheese?" Adam asked, voice small and shy.

Kate stepped out of the kitchen, her voice low as she called for John, and Sam pasted on a weak smile and made himself nod his head. "Y-yeah. I love mac n' cheese." He paused, snuffling and wiping at his nose and eyes with the side of his hand before he picked up his fork. With a quick glance around, he leaned forward slightly. "Dean makes the best mac n' cheese, though. He puts in things like hot dogs!"  
  
"Who's Dean?"  
  
If Adam really was his little brother, well then it stood to reason that he deserved to know. "He's...he's our big brother. He's sixteen and really cool."  
  
He stiffened and went quiet when the wood floor creaked, and Kate stepped into the kitchen, smiling at the two pairs of startled eyes staring back at her. "John's gone to bed, don't you worry," she said, sitting down on the other side of Sam. "If you wouldn't mind, though, I'd like to hear about Dean, too."

 

  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Dean sailed into the house, the door slamming shut behind him a little too hard. He winced, casting an apologetic glance it before calling out, "Hey, there better be some pot roast left in the crock pot because I'm starving!" The house still smelled of beef and potatoes, so he held out hope the other guys hadn't totally pigged out. But he also knew his food was...well, popular with the crowd. He was a good cook, what could he say?

He toed his shoes off, stepping into the kitchen. A wide grin split across his face as he met Sonny's eyes across the table--and then he noticed the company seated there, a severe woman with cold blue eyes and blond hair pulled into a bun and sprayed with hair spray to within an inch of its life. She stared at him, her hands folded on top of the table. Dean licked his lips and glanced at Sonny again, and the man nodded towards the woman.

"Hello," Dean finally managed to spit out, uncertainty and anxiety sinking into the pit of his stomach. None of the other boys were anywhere to be seen, least of all Benny, Cole, and Victor, and that more than anything else unsettled Dean. At this hour, there should be laughter and video games, not chilled silence.

"Hello," the woman said primly. "I'm Allison Standfield. I'm a social worker for the state of New York."

"Uh...well, things are going great here. Model citizen and all," Dean said, trying to skirt around her with a glance towards the crock pot. There was a conversation coming, one he had a feeling he didn't want to hear.

"Dean, have a seat," Ms. Stanfield said firmly, and Dean frowned at her.

"No."

"Dean--"

"No. What's going on? Tell me, or I'm walking out of here." Dean's stomach grumbled a complaint, but hungry or not, he wasn't sticking around for this woman to bullshit him.

Ms. Stanfield's eyes hardened and her lips thinned. "It is our assessment that Mr. Portillo's home is no longer a suitable placement for you."

"Suitable? What isn't suitable about it? I'm a shining example of good citizenship; I have good grades, a job, and I'm happy. I'd say it's been a great 'placement'," Dean sneered, lifting one corner of his lip in a defiant snarl. He ignored the warning look that Sonny was trying to shoot him.

"Indeed." Ms. Stanfield nodded. "Your...improvements make it clear you no longer need to reside here and as such, you will be reassigned to a group home in order to make room for a young man in greater need of placement here."

The bottom of Dean's stomach dropped out, all thoughts of food disappearing as the air rushing from his lungs. He swung his gaze to Sonny. The shock on Sonny's face, however, made it clear what an unwelcome surprise her words were to him as well, and the sting of betrayal ebbed ever so slightly.

"But--but--" Sonny stammered, "Bobby Singer and Ellen Harvelle. They applied to foster Dean already. He's friends with Ellen's daugher, is a regular around Ellen's restaurant these days, and Bobby hired him to work at his garage. They all get along quite well; they've already built a rapport with Dean. That kind of stability is critical for the condition that Dean is in."

Ms. Stanfield raised one perfectly manicured brow. "Be that as it may, my instructions still stand."

"No," Dean spat out again. "If you send me to a group home, I'll just fucking run away, lady." Ms. Stanfield opened her mouth to speak, and Dean cut her off. "I don't care who the fuck you are or who the fuck you work for, but no. I've got friends, someone I'm dating, the closest thing I can figure to family! You can't just waltz in here and declare you're going to take me away from all of it and think I'll just be okay with it! Besides, I have family out there somewhere!" He swung his arms out wildly. "They'll be looking for me, and far away from where I was found won't be where they're searching!"

"Dean--" Mrs. Stanfield tried again.

"Just...fuck you. Fuck you and all of you who think you know what's best for me. I don't even know what's best for me and I AM me! But what I do know is I'm never going to remember anything if I have to lose everything and start all over again!" Dean twisted, turning away from the table and bolting up the stairs to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Benny jerked up from his bed with a start, staring at Dean wide-eyed for half a beat. Then he was shifting slowly to rise to his feet, as though trying to avoid spooking Dean. When Dean glanced down at his hands, quivering and pale, he understood.

"Hey, brother," Benny said softly, halting a couple feet away from Dean. The memory of what happened the last time he'd touched Dean when he'd been so shaken up was still fresh, and Dean couldn't help but appreciate Benny's respecting his need for space.

After a couple of calming breaths, Dean nodded the okay, and Benny came closer, laying a comforting hand on Dean's arm. "What's going on, Chief?"

"They want to send me to a group home," Dean choked, his voice wet and cracking. All these months here, and they were sending him away.

Benny's eyes softened, pity clear, but in that moment, Dean couldn't find any fucks to give.

The door swung open, Sonny standing there, and he silently greeted Benny. "Go to Cole and Victor's room for a moment. Dean and I need to talk."

The moment the door shut behind Benny's retreating back, Dean finally felt a hot flush of shame as tears filled his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. "No one's looking for me. No one's looking for me, are they?" His breath hitched on a quiet sob. "No one's looking for me because no one fucking cares!"

Sonny surged forward, and Dean blindly raised his arms, trying to shove him away as he cried out. But Sonny was larger and stronger, his arms circling tightly around Dean, holding him in place as Dean screamed against his shoulder.

When Dean's tears slowed to little choked gasps, Sonny raised one hand to gently run it over Dean's hair. "I care, Dean."

"You don't have to lie to me, Sonny," Dean replied, voice hoarse.

"I'm not lying. I do care. When she showed up, I thought she was here to take you to Ellen and Bobby's."

"Y-you knew?" Dean tried to push away, but Sonny only strengthened his grip.

"I knew you'd have to leave eventually, yes. It's how things work here. It's why I talked Ellen and Bobby into volunteering to take you." This time, when Dean leaned back, Sonny let him, taking in Dean's splotched cheeks and puffy red eyes.

"You...?"

Sonny nodded. "You're doing well here. Disrupting that at this point could have catastrophic results on any chance of recovering your memories. And even if you never remember, even if your family never finds you, you have family and memories here." He smiled slightly and grabbed a tissue from Dean's nightstand, wiping it across Dean's cheeks. Dean wrinkled his nose and let out a crackling, liquidy laugh. "Feel better?"

Dean jerked his head with a tight smile on his lips. "But I'm still not going to some damn group home. I'd rather sleep on a bench in the park and get arrested by Jody for it."

"That's not happening, Dean. I already called Sheriff Mills, and she's dealing with the state for now. When you finally leave this house, it'll be to move into the house three miles down the road so you can go to school with Jo, eat Ellen's cooking all the time, and bum a ride home from work with Bobby." He winked at Dean with a cocky grin. "And that's three miles closer to that boyfriend of yours."

When Sonny finally left the room, Cole, Benny, and Victor stormed in to check on him. With one look at his face, they disappeared down the hall, only to reemerge from Cole and Victor's room, dragging mattresses covered in pillows and blankets. Moments later, Benny had dragged his and Dean's mattresses onto the floor, too, dumping pillows and blankets on the pile.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, scrunching his brow at them in a frown.

"We're camping out," Cole replied, cheerfully, grinning at him.

"You camp outside, dumbass. Is that even allowed?"

"Nah, but who cares? Tonight we're all gonna camp in here," Victor laughed as he nudged Dean with an elbow. Dean scowled at him, trying to stomp down the warmth blooming in his belly.

"Fine. Do what you want," he eventually grumbled, flopping onto his mattress, which was shoved partway under his bed thanks to an utter lack of open floor space.  
Despite the crowded conditions, all four boys slept peacefully, and in the morning, Sonny didn't say a word about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, lovelies! Hope you enjoyed this chapter~


End file.
